


Harley Evans and the Philosopher's Stone

by BiBitchBee



Series: Harley Evans [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Canon Rewrite, Fuck JKR, Like not Harriett Potter, Normal Names, basically word for word from the books, like real names, or the obviously gender opposite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 77,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29164035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiBitchBee/pseuds/BiBitchBee
Summary: Harley Evans has never played a sport while flying on a broomstick. She's never worn a cloak of invisibility, befriended a giant, or helped hatch a dragon. All Harley knows is a miserable life with the Evans', his horrible aunt and uncle, and their abominable daughter, Dorothy. Harley's room is a tiny closet at the foot of the stairs, and she hasn't had a birthday party in eleven years.But all that is about to change when a mysterious letter arrives by owl messenger: a letter with an invitation to a wonderful place she never dreamed existed. There she finds not only friends, aerial sports, and magic around every corner, but a great destiny that's been waiting for her... if Harley can survive the encounter.
Series: Harley Evans [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140866





	1. The Girl Who Lived

Mr. and Mrs. Evans, of Number 4 Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mrs. Evans was the director at a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. She was a short, beefy woman with hardly any neck, although she did have rather large feet. Mr. Evans was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as he spent so much of his time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Evans’ had a small daughter named Dorothy and in their opinion, there was no finer girl anywhere.

The Evans’ had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn’t think they could bear it if someone found out about the other Evans’. Mr. Evans and Mr. Evans were brothers, but they hadn’t met for several years; in fact, Mr. Evans pretended he didn’t have a brother, because his brother and his good-for-nothing wife were unlike the Evans’ in every way it was possible to be. The Evans’ shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Evans’ arrived in the street. The Evans’ also had a small daughter, but they had never seen her. This girl was another reason to keep the Evans’ away; they didn’t want Dorothy mixing with a child like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Evans woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mrs. Evans hummed as she picked out her most poring skirt for work, and Mr. Evans gossiped away happily as he wrestled a screaming Dorothy into her high chair.

None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Mrs. Evans picked up her briefcase, pecked Mr. Evans on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dorothy good-bye but missed, because Dorothy was now throwing a tantrum and throwing her cereal at the walls. “Little princess,” Mrs. Evans laughed as she left her house. She got into her car and backed out of number four’s drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar -- a cat reading a map. For a second, Mrs. Evans didn’t realize what she had seen, then she jerked her head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could she have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mrs. Evans blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mrs. Evans drove around the corner and up the road, she watched the cat in her mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive– no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mrs. Evans gave herself a little shake and out the cat out of her mind. As she drove toward town she thought of nothing except a large order of drills she was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of her mind by something else. As she sat in the usual morning traffic jam, she couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mrs. Evans couldn’t bear people who dressed in funny clothes -- the getups you saw on young people! She supposed this was some stupid new fashion. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and her eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mrs. Evans was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that woman had to be older than she was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of her! But then it struck Mrs. Evans that this was probably some silly stunt -- these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mrs. Evans pulled into the Grunnings parking lot, her mind back on drills.

Mrs. Evans always sat with her back to the window in her office on the ninth floor. If she hadn't, she might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. She didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open- mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mrs. Evans, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. She yelled at five incompetent people, she made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. She was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when she thought she'd stretch her legs and walk across the road to buy herself a bun from the bakery.

She’d forgotten all about the people in cloaks until she passed a group of them next to the baker’s. She eyed them angrily as she passed. She didn’t know why but they made her uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and she couldn’t see a single collection tin. It was only on the way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in the bag, that she caught a few words of what they were saying.

“The Evans’, that’s right, that’s what I heard, yes, their daughter, Harley.”

Mrs. Evans stopped dead. Fear flooded her. She looked back at the whisperers as if she wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

She dashed back across the road, hurried up to her office, told her secretary not to disturb him, seized her telephone, and had almost finished dialing her home number when she changed her mind. She put down the receiver and paced her office, thinking… no, she was being stupid. Evans was a common name. She was sure there’s lots of people named Evans with a daughter named Harley. Come to think of it, she wasn’t even sure her niece was called Harley. She’d never even seen the girl. It might have been Hailey. or Holly. There was no point in worrying Mr. Evans; he always got so upset at the mention of his brother. She didn’t blame him – if she had a brother like that… but all the same those people in cloaks…

She found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when she left the building at five o’clock, she was still so worried that she walked straight into someone right out the door.

“Sorry” she grunted, as the tiny old woman stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mrs. Evans realized that the woman was wearing that the woman was wearing a violet cloak. She didn’t seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, her face split into a wide smile and her said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear lady, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old woman hugged Mrs. Evans around the middle and walked off.

Mrs. Evans stood rooted to the spot. She had been hugged by a complete stranger. She also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. She was rattled. She hurried to her car and set off for home, hoping she was imagining things, which she had never hoped before, because she didn’t approve of imagination.

As she pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing she saw – and it didn’t improve her room – was the tabby cat she’d spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. She was sure this was the same one; it had the same markings around it’s eyes.

“Shoo!” said Mrs. Evans loudly. The at didn’t move. It just gave her a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mrs. Evans wondered. Trying to pull herself together, she let herself into the house. She was still determined not to mention anything to her husband.

Mr. Evans had had a nice, normal day. He told her over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her son and how Dorothy had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mrs. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dorothy had been put to bed, she went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed herself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?" 

"Well, Tess," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early -- it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mrs. Evans sat frozen in her armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Evans…

Mr. Evans came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. She’d have to say something to him. “Er – Peter, dear – you haven’t heard from your brother lately, have you?”

As she had expected, Mr. Evans looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended he didn't have a brother.

“No,” he said sharply, “why?

“Funny stuff on the news,” Mrs. Evans mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."

"So?" snapped Mr. Evans.

"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."

Mr. Evans sipped his tea through pursed lips. Mrs. Evans wondered whether she dared tell him she heard the name “Evans.” She decided she wouldn’t dare. Instead she said, as casually as she could, "Their daughter-- she'd be about Dorothy’s age now, wouldn't she?"

“I suppose so,” said Mr. Evans stiffly.

“What’s her name? Hailey, isn’t it?”

“Harley. Nasty name if you ask me, like those motorbikes.”

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Evans, her heart sinking horribly. “Yes, I quite agree.”

She didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mr. Evans was in the bathroom, Mrs. Evans crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.

Was she imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Evans’? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of -- well, she didn't think she could bear it.

The Evans’ got into bed. Mr. Evans fell asleep quickly but Mrs. Evans lay awake, turning it all over in her mind. Her last, comforting thought before she fell asleep was that even if the Evans’ were involved, there was no reason for them to come near her and Mr. Evans. The Evans’ knew very well what she and Peter thought about them and their kind.... She couldn't see how she and Peter could get mixed up in anything that might be going on --s he yawned and turned over -- it couldn't affect them....

How very wrong she was.

Mrs. Evans might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A woman appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought she'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this woman had ever been seen on Privet Drive. She was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of her hair, which was long enough to tuck into her belt. She was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. Her blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and her nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This woman's name was Allana Dumbledore.

Allana Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that she had just arrived in a street where everything from her name to her boots was unwelcome. She was busy rummaging in her cloak, looking for something. But she did seem to realize she was being watched, because she looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at her from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse her. She chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

She found what she was looking for in her inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. She flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. She clicked it again -- the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times she clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mr. Evans, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside her cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where she sat down on the wall next to the cat. She didn't look at it, but after a moment she spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

She turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead she was smiling at a rather severe-looking man who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. He, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. His black hair was distinctly ruffled, just like the rest of him.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," he said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Evans' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars.... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I'll bet that was Delphi Diggle. She never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

He threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping she was going to tell him something, but she didn't, so he went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose she really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though he didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone -"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call her by her name? All this 'You- Know-Who' nonsense -- for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call her by her proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.

"I know you haven't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too -- well -- noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Sir Pomfrey told me he liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why she's disappeared? About what finally stopped her?“

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point he was most anxious to discuss, the real reason he had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a man had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as he did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, he was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told him it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," he pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Evans’. The rumor is that Liam and Jaime Evans are -- are -- that they're -- dead. "

Dumbledore bowed her head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Liam and Jaime... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Allana..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." she said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as he went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Evans’ daughter, Harley. But – she couldn't. She couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when she couldn't kill Harley Evans, Voldemort's power somehow broke – and that's why she's gone.

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's – it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all she's done... all the people she's killed... she couldn't kill a little girl? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop her... but how in the name of heaven did Harley survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes beneath his spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as she took a golden watch from her pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because she put it back in her pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was she who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

“I’ve come to bring Harley to his aunt and uncle. They’re the only family he has now.”

“You don’t mean – you can’t mean the people who live here?” cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to hid feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore -- you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this daughter – I saw her kicking her father all the way up the street screaming for sweets. Harley Evans, come and live here!"

"It's the best place for her," said Dumbledore firmly. "Her aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to her when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand her! She'll be famous – a legend – I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harley Evans day in the future – there will be books written about Harley – every child in our world will know her name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of her half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any girl's head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can’t you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened his mouth, changed his mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes – yes, you're right, of course. But how is the girl getting here, Dumbledore?" He eyed her cloak suddenly as though he thought she might be hiding Harley underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it – wise – to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

“I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying her heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend she's not careless. She does tend to -- what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky -- and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the woman sitting astride it. She was almost twice as tall as a normal woman and at least five times as wide. She looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair that hid most of his face, she had hands the size of trash can lids, and her feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In her vast, muscular arms she was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, ma’am," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as she spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got her, ma’am."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, ma’am -- house was almost destroyed, but I got her out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over her forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well -- give her here, Hagrid -- we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harley in his arms and turned toward the Evans' house.

"Could I – could I say good-bye to her, sir?" asked Hagrid. She bent his great, shaggy head over Harley and gave her what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it -- Liam an' Jaime dead -- an' poor little Harley off ter live with Muggles -"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. She laid Harley gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of her cloak, tucked it inside Harley's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall -- Professor Dumbledore, ma’am."

Wiping her streaming eyes on her jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung herself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to him. Professor McGonagall blew his nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner she stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. She clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. She could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harley," she murmured. She turned on his heel and with a swish of her cloak, she was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harley Evans rolled over inside her blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside her and she slept on, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mr. Evans’ scream as he opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that she would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by her cousin Dorothy... She couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harley Evans – the girl who lived!"


	2. The Vanishing Glass

Nearly ten years had passed since the Evans’ had woken up to find their niece on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Evans' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mrs. Evans had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets -- but Dorothy Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond girl riding her first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with her mother, being hugged and kissed by her father. The room held no sign at all that another girl lived in the house, too.

Yet Harley Evans was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. His Uncle Peter was awake and it was his shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Harley woke with a start. Her uncle rapped on the door again.

"Up!" he screeched. Harley heard him walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. She rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream she had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. She had a funny feeling she'd had the same dream before.

Her uncle was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" he demanded.

"Nearly," said Harley.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Dotty's birthday."

Harley groaned.

"What did you say?" her uncle snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing..."

Dorothy's birthday -- how could she have forgotten? Harley got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. She found a pair under her bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harley was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where she slept.

When she was dressed she went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dorothy's birthday presents. It looked as though Dorothy had gotten the new computer she wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dorothy wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harley, as Dorothy was very fat and hated exercise -- unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dorothy’s favorite punching bag was Harley, but she couldn't often catch her. Harley didn't look it, but she was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harley had always been small and skinny for her age. She looked even smaller and skinnier than she really was because all she had to wear were old clothes of Dorothy's, and Dorothy was about four times bigger than she was. Harley had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. She wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dorothy had punched her on the nose. The only thing Harley liked about her own appearance was a very thin scar on her forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. She had had it as long as she could remember, and the first question she could ever remember asking his Uncle Pete was how she had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," he had said. "And don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions -- that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Evans’.

Aunt Veronica entered the kitchen as Harley was turning over the bacon.

"Comb your hair!" she barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Aunt Veronica looked over the top of her newspaper and shouted that Harley needed a haircut. Harley must have had more haircuts than the rest of the girls in her class put together, but it made no difference, her hair simply grew that way -- all over the place.

Harley was frying eggs by the time Dorothy arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dorothy looked a lot like Aunt Veronica. She had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly down her back. Uncle Peter often said that Dorothy looked like a baby angel -- Harley often said that Dorothy looked like a pig in a wig.

Harley put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dorothy, meanwhile, was counting her presents. Her face fell.

"Thirty-six," she said, looking up at her mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Uncle Marcus’ present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dorothy, going red in the face. Harley, who could see a huge Dorothy tantrum coming on, began wolfing down her bacon as fast as possible in case Dorothy turned the table over.

Uncle Pete obviously scented danger, too, because he said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right''

Dorothy thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally she said slowly, "So I'll have thirty ... thirty..."

"Thirty-nine, princess," said Uncle Peter.

"Oh." Dorothy sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Aunt Veronica chuckled. "Our princess wants her money's worth, just like her mother. 'Atta girl, Dorothy!" He ruffled Dorothy’s hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Uncle Peter went to answer it while Harley and Aunt Veronica watched Dorothy unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. She was ripping the paper off a gold necklace when Uncle Peter came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Veronica," he said. "Mr. Figg's broken his leg. He can't take her." He jerked his head in Harley's direction.

Dorothy’s mouth fell open in horror, but Harley's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dorothy’s birthday, her parents took her and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harley was left behind with Mr. Figg, a mad old man who lived two streets away. Harley hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mr. Figg made her look at photographs of all the cats he'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Uncle Peter, looking furiously at Harley as though she'd planned this. Harley knew she ought to feel sorry that Mr. Figg had broken his leg, but it wasn't easy when she reminded herself it would be a whole year before she had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marcus," Aunt Veronica suggested.

“Don't be silly, Veronica, he hates the girl."

The Evans’ often spoke about Harley like this, as though she wasn't there -- or rather, as though she was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend -- Daniel?"

"On vacation with his wife in Majorca," snapped Uncle Peter.

"You could just leave me here," Harley put in hopefully (she'd be able to watch what she wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dorothy’s computer).

Uncle Peter looked as though he'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" he snarled.

"I won't blow up the house," said Harley, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Uncle Peter slowly, "... and leave him in the car...."

"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone...."

Dorothy began to cry loudly. In fact, she wasn't really crying -- it had been years since she'd really cried -- but she knew that if she screwed up her face and wailed, her father would give him anything she wanted.

"Dotty, darling, don't cry, Daddy won't let him spoil your special day!" he cried, flinging his arms around her.

"I... don't... want... her... t-t-to come!" Dorothy yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "She always sp- spoils everything!" She shot Harley a nasty grin through the gap in his father’s arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang -- "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Uncle Peter frantically -- and a moment later, Dorothy’s best friend, Piper Polkiss, walked in with her father. Piper was a scrawny girl with a face like a rat. She was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dorothy hit them. Dorothy stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Harley, who couldn't believe her luck, was sitting in the back of the Evans’ car with Piper and Dorothy, on the way to the zoo for the first time in her life. Her aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with her, but before they'd left, Aunt Veronica had taken Harley aside.

"I'm warning you," she had said, putting her large purple face right up close to Harley's, "I'm warning you now, girl -- any funny business, anything at all -- and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harley, "honestly..

But Aunt Veronnica didn't believe her. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harley and it was just no good telling the Evans’ she didn't make them happen.

Once, Uncle Peter, tired of Harley coming back from the hairdresser looking as though she hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut her hair so short it was to her ears except for her bangs, which he left "to hide that horrible scar." Dorothy had laughed herself silly at Harley, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where she was already laughed at for her baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, she had gotten up to find her hair exactly as it had been before Uncle Peter had sheared it off. She had been given a week in her cupboard for this, even though she had tried to explain that she couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Uncle Peter had been trying to force her into a revolting old sweater of Dorothy (brown with orange puff balls) -- The harder he tried to pull it over her head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Harley. Uncle Peter had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to her great relief, Harley wasn't punished.

On the other hand, she'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dorothy’s gang had been chasing her as usual when, as much to Harley’s surprise as anyone else's, there she was sitting on the chimney. The Evans’ had received a very angry letter from Harley's headmaster telling them Harley had been climbing school buildings. But all she'd tried to do (as she shouted at Aunt Veronica through the locked door of her cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harley supposed that the wind must have caught her in mid-jump.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dorothy and Piper to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, her cupboard, or Mr. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While she drove, Aunt Vernon complained to Uncle Peter. She liked to complain about things: people at work, Harley, the council, Harley, the bank, and Harley were just a few of her favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

"... roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," she said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

“I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harley, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."

Aunt Veronica nearly crashed into the car in front of them. She turned right around in her seat and yelled at Harley, her face like a gigantic beet: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dorothy and Piper sniggered.

“I know they don't," said Harley. "It was only a dream."

But she wished she hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Evans’ hated even more than her asking questions, it was her talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon -- they seemed to think she might get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Evans’ bought Dorothy and Piper large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harley what she wanted before they could hurry her away, they bought her a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, Harley thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dorothy, except that it wasn't blond.

Harley had the best morning she'd had in a long time. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Evans’ so that Dorothy and Piper, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting her. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dorothy had a tantrum because her knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Aunt Veronica bought her another one and Harley was allowed to finish the first.

Harley felt, afterward, that she should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dorothy and Piper wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dorothy quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Aunt Veronica's car and crushed it into a trash can -- but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dorothy stood with her nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," she whined at her mother. Aunt Veronica tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dorothy ordered. Aunt Veronica rapped the glass smartly with her knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dorothy moaned. She shuffled away.

Harley moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself -- no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Uncle Peter hammering on the door to wake you up; at least she got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harley's.

It winked.

Harley stared. Then she looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. She looked back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head toward Aunt Veronica and Dorothy, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harley a look that said quite plainly:

"I get that all the time.”

"I know," Harley murmured through the glass, though she wasn't sure the snake could hear her. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harley asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harley peered at it.

_ Boa Constrictor, Brazil. _

"Was it nice there?"

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harley read on:  _ This specimen was bred in the zoo. _ "Oh, I see -- so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harley made both of them jump.

"DOROTHY! MRS. EVANS! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dorothy came waddling toward them as fast as she could.

"Out of the way, you," she said, punching Harley in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harley fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened -- one second, Piper and Dorothy were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Harley sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harley could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come.... Thanksss, amiga."

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," she kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Uncle Peter a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piper and Dorothy could only gibber. As far as Harley had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Aunt Veronica's car, Dorothy was telling them how it had nearly bitten off hier leg, while Piper was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harley at least, was Piper calming down enough to say, "Harley was talking to it, weren't you, Harley?"

Aunt Veronica waited until Piper was safely out of the house before starting on Harley. She was so angry she could hardly speak. She managed to say, "Go -- cupboard -- stay -- no meals," before she collapsed into a chair, and Uncle Peter had to run and get him a large brandy.

Harley lay in her dark cupboard much later, wishing she had a watch. She didn't know what time it was and she couldn't be sure the Evans’ were asleep yet. Until they were, she couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.

She'd lived with the Evans’ almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as she could remember, ever since she'd been a baby and her parents had died in that car crash. She couldn't remember being in the car when her parents had died. Sometimes, when she strain her memory during long hours in her cupboard, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burn- ing pain on his forehead. This, she supposed, was the crash, though she couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. She couldn't remember her parents at all. Her aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course she was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When she had been younger, Harley had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take her away, but it had never happened; the Evans’ were her only family. Yet sometimes she thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know her. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny woman in a violet top hat had bowed to her once while out shopping with Uncle Peter and Dorothy. After asking Harley furiously if she knew the woman, Uncle Peter had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old man dressed all in green had waved merrily at her once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken her hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harley tried to get a closer look.

At school, Harley had no one. Everybody knew that Dorothy’s gang hated that odd Harley Evans in her baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dorothy’s gang.


	3. Letters From No One

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harley her longest-ever punishment. By the time she was allowed out of his cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dorothy had already broken her new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on her racing bike, knocked down old Mr. Figg as he crossed Privet Drive on his crutches.

Harley was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dorothy’s gang, who visited the house every single day. Piper, Delilah, Mallory, and Gianna were all big and stupid, but as Dorothy was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, she was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dorothy’s favorite sport: Harley Hunting.

This was why Harley spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where she could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came she would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in her life, she wouldn't be with Dorothy. Dorothy had been accepted at Aunt Veronica's old private school, Smeltings. Piper Polkiss was going there too. Harley, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dorothy thought this was very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," she told Harley. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thanks," said Harley. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it -- it might be sick." Then she ran, before Dorothy could work out what she'd said.

One day in July, Uncle Peter took Dorothy to London to buy her Smeltings uniform, leaving Harley at Mr. Figg's. Ms. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out he'd broken his leg tripping over one of his cats, and he didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. He let Harley watch television and gave her a bit of chocolate cake that his husband had made before he went to work, so it was several hours old, all though it tasted much older. 

That evening, Dorothy paraded around the living room for the family in her brand-new uniform. Smeltings' girls wore maroon tailcoats, orange skirts, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As she looked at Dorothy in her new uniform, Aunt Veronica said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of her life. Uncle Peter burst into tears and said he couldn't believe it was his baby Dottie, she looked so beautiful and grown-up. Harley didn't trust herself to speak. She thought two of her ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harley went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. She went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"What's this?" she asked Uncle Peter. His lips tightened as they always did if she dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform," he said.

Harley looked in the bowl again.

"Oh," she said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."

"Don’t be stupid," snapped Uncle Peter. "I'm dyeing some of Dorothy’s old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

Harley seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. She sat down at the table and tried not to think about how she was going to look on her first day at Stonewall High -- like she was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Dorothy and Aunt Veronica came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harley's new uniform. Aunt Veronica opened her newspaper as usual and Dorothy banged her Smelting stick, which she carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dorothy," said Aunt Veronica from behind her paper.

"Make Harley get it."

"Get the mail, Harley."

"Make Dorothy get it."

"Poke her with your Smelting stick, Dorothy."

Harley dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Aunt Veronica’'s brother marcus, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and -- a letter for Harley.

Harley picked it up and stared at it, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in her whole life, had written to her. Who would? She had no friends, no other relatives -- she didn't belong to the library, so she'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Ms. H. Evans

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harley saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, girl!" shouted Aunt Veronica from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" She chuckled at her own joke.

Harley went back to the kitchen, still staring at her letter. She handed Aunt Veronica the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Aunt Veronica ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marcus’ ill," she informed Unce Peter. "Ate a funny whelk. --."

"Mum!” said Dorothy suddenly. "Mum, Harley's got something!"

Harley was on the point of unfolding her letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of her hand by Aunt Veronica.

"That's mine!" said Harley, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Wunt Veronica, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. Her face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Peter!" she gasped.

Dorothy tried to grab the letter to read it, but Aunt Veronica held it high out of her reach. Uncle Peter took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though he might faint. He clutched his throat and made a choking noise.

"Veronica! Oh my goodness -- Veronica!"

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harley and Doorthy were still in the room. Dorothy wasn't used to being ignored. She gave her mother a sharp tap on the head with her Smelting stick.

"I want to read that letter," she said loudly. 

“ _I_ want to read it," said Harley furiously, "as it's mine."

"Get out, both of you," croaked Aunt Veronica, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Harley didn't move.

“I WANT MY LETTER!" she shouted.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dorothy.

"OUT!" roared Aunt Veronica, and she took both Harley and Dorothy by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Harley and Dorothy promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dorothy won, so Harley, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on her stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

"Veronica," Uncle Peter was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address -- how could they possibly know where she sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching -- spying -- might be following us," muttered Aunt Veronica wildly.

"But what should we do, Veronica? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want --"

Harley could see Aunt Veronica's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen. She had once said to Dorothy that high heeled shoes were for women looking for trouble.

"No," she said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything....

"But --"

"I'm not having one in the house, Peter! Didn't we swear when we took her in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

That evening when she got back from work, Aunt Veronica did something she'd never done before; she visited Harley in his cupboard.

"Where's my letter?" said Harley, the moment Aunt Veronica had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to me?"

"No one. it was addressed to you by mistake," said Aunt Veronica shortly. "I have burned it."

"It was not a mistake," said Harley angrily, "it had my cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Aunt Veronica, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. She took a few deep breaths and then forced her face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er -- yes, Harley -- about this cupboard. Your uncle and I have been thinking... you're really getting a bit big for it... we think it might be nice if you moved into Dorothy’s second bedroom.

"Why?" said Harley.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped her aunt. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Evans’ house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Peter and Aunt Veronica, one for visitors (usually Aunt Veronica’s brother, Marcus), one where Dorothy slept, and one where Dorothy kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into her first bedroom. It only took Harley one trip upstairs to move everything she owned from the cupboard to this room. She sat down on the bed and stared around her. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dorothy had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dorothy’s first-ever television set, which she'd put her foot through when her favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dorothy had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dorothy had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.

From downstairs came the sound of Dorothy bawling at her father, “I don't want her in there... I need that room... make her get out...."

Harley sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday she'd have given anything to be up here. Today she'd rather be back in her cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dorothy was in shock. She'd screamed, whacked her mother with her Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his father, and thrown her tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and she still didn't have his room back. Harley was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing she'd opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Peter and Aunt Veronica kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Aunt Veronica, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harley, made Dorothy go and get it. They heard her banging things with her Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then she shouted, "There's another one! 'Ms. H. Evans, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive --'"

With a strangled cry, Aunt Veronica leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harley right behind her. Aunt Veronica had to wrestle Dorothy to the ground to get the letter from her, which was made difficult by the fact that Harley had grabbed Aunt Veronica around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Aunt Veronica straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harley's letter clutched in her hand.

"Go to your cupboard -- I mean, your bedroom," she wheezed at Harry. "Dorothy -- go -- just go."

Harley walked round and round her new room. Someone knew she had moved out of her cupboard and they seemed to know she hadn't received her first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time she'd make sure they didn't fail. She had a plan.

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harley turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the Evans’. She stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights.

She was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. Her heart hammered as she crept across the dark hall toward the front door --

Harley leapt into the air; she'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat -- something alive!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harley realized that the big, squashy something had been her aunt’s face. Aunt Veronica had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harley didn't do exactly what she'd been trying to do. She shouted at Harley for about half an hour and then told her to go and make a cup of tea. Harley shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time she got back, the mail had arrived, right into Aunt Veronica’s lap. Harley could see three letters addressed in green ink.

“I want --" he began, but Aunt Veronica was tearing the letters into pieces before her eyes. Aunt Veronica didn’t go to work that day. She stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," she explained to Uncle Peter through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Veronica."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Peter, they're not like you and me," said Aunt Veronica, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Uncle Peter had just brought her.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harley. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Aunt Veronica stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, she got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. She hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as she worked, and jumped at small noises.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harley found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Uncle Peter through the living room window. While Aunt Veronica made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Uncle Peter shredded the letters in his food processor.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dorothy asked Harley in amazement.

On Sunday morning, Aunt Veronica sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays," she reminded them cheerfully as she spread marmalade on her newspapers, "no damn letters today --"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as she spoke and caught her sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Evans’ ducked, but Harley leapt into the air trying to catch one.

"Out! OUT!"

Aunt Veronica seized Harley around the waist and threw her into the hall. When Uncle Peter and Dorothy had run out with their arms over their faces, Aunt Veronica slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Aunt Veronica, trying to speak calmly but yanking strands out of her hair at the same time. “I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

She looked so dangerous with chunks of hair in her fists that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dorothy was sniffling in the back seat; her mother had hit her round the head for holding them up while she tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in her school bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Uncle Peter didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Aunt Veronica would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake'em off... shake 'em off," she would mutter whenever she did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dorothy was howling. She'd never had such a bad day in his life. She was hungry, she'd missed five television programs she'd wanted to see, and she'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on her computer.

Aunt Veronica stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dorothy and Harley shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dorothy snored but Harley stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering....

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Ms. H. Evans? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."

He held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Ms. H. Evans

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Harley made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The man stared.

"I'll take them," said Aunt Veronica, standing up quickly and following him from the dining room.

“Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Uncle Peter suggested timidly, hours later, but Aunt Veronica didn't seem to hear him. Exactly what she was looking for, none of them knew. She drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook her head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

"Mummy's gone mad, hasn't she?" Dorothy asked Uncle Peter dully late that afternoon. Aunt Veronica had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dorothy sniveled.

"It's Monday," she told her father. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television. "

Monday. This reminded Harley of something. If it was Monday -- and you could usually count on Dorothy to know the days the week, because of television -- then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harley's eleventh birthday. Of course, her birthdays were never exactly fun -- last year, the Evans’ had given her a coat hanger and a pair of Aunt Veronica’s old socks. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Aunt Veronica was back and she was smiling. She was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Uncle Peter when he asked what she'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" she said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car. Aunt Veronica was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Aunt Veronica gleefully, clapping her hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Aunt Veronica, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Aunt Veronica, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Aunt Veronica’s rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. She tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" she said cheerfully.

She was in a very good mood. Obviously she thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harley privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer her up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Uncle Peter found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dorothy on the moth-eaten sofa. He and Aunt Veronica went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harley was left to find the softest bit of floor she could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harley couldn't sleep. She shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, her stomach rumbling with hunger. Dorothy’s snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dorothy’s watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on her fat wrist, told Harley she'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. She lay and watched her birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Evans’ would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Harley heard something creak outside. She hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although she might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that she'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and she'd be eleven. Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten... nine -- maybe she'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him -- three... two... one...

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Harley sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.


	4. Keeper Of the Keys

BOOM. They knocked again. Dorothy jerked awake. "Where's the cannon?" she said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Aunt Veronica came skidding into the room. She was holding a rifle in her hands -- now they knew what had been in the long, thin package she had brought with them.

"Who's there?" she shouted. "I warn you -- I'm armed!"

There was a pause. Then --

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a woman was standing in the doorway. Her face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair, but you could make out her eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed her way into the hut, stooping so that her head just brushed the ceiling. She bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. She turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey..."

She strode over to the sofa where Dorothy sat frozen with fear.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.

Dorothy squeaked and ran to hide behind her father, who was crouching, terrified, behind Aunt Veronica.

"An' here's Harley!" said the giant.

Harley looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yet dad, but yeh've got yet mom's eyes."

Aunt Veronica made a funny rasping noise. 

“I demand that you leave at once, madam!" she said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Evans, yeh great prune," said the giant; she reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Aunt Veronica's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

Aunt Veronica made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway -- Harley," said the giant, turning her back on the Evans’, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here -- I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

From an inside pocket of her black overcoat she pulled a slightly squashed box. Harley opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harley written on it in green icing.

Harley looked up at the giant. She meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to her mouth, and what she said instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant chuckled.

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Reia Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

She held out an enormous hand and shook Harley's whole arm.

"What about that tea then, eh?" she said, rubbing her hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

Her eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and she snorted. She bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see whats he was doing but when she drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Harley felt the warmth wash over her as though he'd sunk into a hot bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under her weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of her coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that she took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as she slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dorothy fidgeted a little. Aunt Veronica said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dorothy."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a girl don' need fattenin' anymore, Evans, don' worry."

She passed the sausages to Harley, who was so hungry she had never tasted anything so wonderful, but she still couldn't take her eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, she said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped hiserouth with the back of her hand.

"Call me Hagrid," she said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts -- yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course.

"Er -- no," said Harley.

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Harley said quickly.

"Sorry?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Evans’, who shrank back into the shadows. "It' s them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yet parents learned it all?"

"All what?" asked Harley.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"

She had leapt to his feet. In her anger, she seemed to fill the whole hut. The Evans’ were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," she growled at the Evans’, "that this girl -- this girl! -- knows nothin' abou' -- about ANYTHING?"

Harley thought this was going a bit far. She had been to school, after all, and her marks weren't bad.

"I know some things," she said. "I can, you know, do math and stuff." But Hagrid simply waved her hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if she was about to explode.

"EVANS!" he boomed.

Aunt Veronica, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Harley.

"But yeh must know about yet mom and dad," she said. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."

"What? My -- my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"

"Yeh don' know... yeh don' know..." Hagrid ran her fingers through her hair, fixing Harley with a bewildered stare.

"Yeh don' know what yeh are?" she said finally.

Aunt Veronica suddenly found her voice.

"Stop!" she commanded. "Stop right there, sit! I forbid you to tell the girl anything!"

A braver woman than Vernoica Evans would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave her; when Hagrid spoke, her every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told her? Never told her what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer her? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Evans! An' you've kept it from her all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" said Harley eagerly.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Aunt Veronica in panic.

Uncle Peter gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yet heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harley -- yer a witch."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

"-- a what?" gasped Harley.

"A witch, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."

Harley stretched out her hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Ms. H. Evans, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. She pulled out the letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALLANA DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Evans,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Yours sincerely,

Maximillion McGonagall,

Deputy Headmaster

Questions exploded inside Harley's head like fireworks and she couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few minutes she stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to her forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat she pulled an owl -- a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl -- a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With her tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Harley could read upside down:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Given Harley her letter.

Taking her to buy her things tomorrow.

Weather's horrible. Hope you're Well.

Hagrid

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then she came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

Harley realized her mouth was open and closed it quickly.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Aunt Veronica, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"She's not going,” she said.

Hagrid grunted.

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop her," she said.

"A what?" said Harley, interested.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call nonmagic folk like thern. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took her in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Aunt Veroncia, "swore we'd stamp it out of her! Witch indeed!"

"You knew?" said Harley. "You knew I'm a -- a witch?"

"Knew!" shrieked Uncle Peter suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted brother being what he was? Oh, he got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school-and came home every vacation with his pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw him for what she was -- a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Liam this and Liam that, they were proud of having a wizard in the family!"

He stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed he had been wanting to say all this for years.

"Then she met that Evans girl at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as -- as -- abnormal -- and then, if you please, he went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Harley had gone very white. As soon as she found hier voice he said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Evans’ scuttled back to their corner . "How could a car crash kill Liam an' Jaime Evans? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harley Evans not knowin' her own story when every kid in our world knows her name!" 

"But why? What happened?" Harley asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. She looked suddenly anxious.

"I never expected this," she said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harley, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh -- but someone’s gotta -- yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."

She threw a dirty look at the Evans’.

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh -- mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it...."

She sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It begins, I suppose, with -- with a person called -- but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows --"

"Who? "

"Well -- I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harley, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this witch who went... bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. Her name was..."

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you write it down?" Harley suggested.

"Nah -can't spell it. All right -- Voldemort. " Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this -- this witch, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too -- some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' her power, 'cause she was gettin' herself power, all right. Dark days, Harley. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches... terrible things happened. She was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to her -- an' she killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on her side before... probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side.

"Maybe she thought she could persuade 'em... maybe she just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, she turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. She came ter yer house an' -- an' --"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew her nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," she said. "But it's that sad -- knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find -- anyway..."

"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then -- an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing -- she tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe she just liked killin' by then. But she couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a Powerful, evil curse touches yeh -- took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even -- but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Harley. No one ever lived after she decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' she'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age -- the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts -- an' you was only a baby, an' you lived.”

Something very painful was going on in Harley's mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close, she saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than she had ever remembered it before -- and she remembered something else, for the first time in her life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.

Hagrid was watching her sadly.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot..."

"Load of old tosh," said Aunt Veronica. Harley jumped; he had almost forgotten that the Evans’ were there. Aunt Veronica certainly seemed to have got back her courage. She was glaring at Hagrid and her fists were clenched.

"Now, you listen here, girl," she snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured -- and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion -- asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types -- just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end --"

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside her coat. Pointing this at Aunt Veronica like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Evans -I'm warning you -- one more word... "

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a giant, Aunt Veronica’s courage failed again; she flattened herself against the wall and fell silent."That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.

Harlay, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.

"But what happened to Vol--, sorry -- I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Harley. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night she tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see... she was gettin' more an' more powerful -- why'd she go?

"Some say she died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if she had enough human left in him to die. Some say she's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on her side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don- reckon they could've done if he was comin' back.

"Most of us reckon she's still out there somewhere but lost her powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished her, Harley. There was somethin' goin' on that night she hadn't counted on -- I dunno what it was, no one does -- but somethin' about you stumped her, all right."

Hagrid looked at Harley with warmth and respect blazing in her eyes, but Harley, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A witch? Her? How could she possibly be? She'd spent his life being clouted by Dorothy, and bullied by Aunt Veronica and Uncle Peter; if she was really a witch, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock her in her cupboard? If she'd once defeated the greatest sorceress in the world, how come Dorothy had always been able to kick him around like a football?

"Hagrid," she said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a witch."

To her surprise, Hagrid chuckled.

"Not a witch, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"

Harley looked into the fire. Now she came to think about it... every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with her had happened when she, Harley, had been upset or angry... chased by Dorothy’s gang, she had somehow found herself out of their reach... dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, she'd managed to make it grow back... and the very last time Dorothy had hit him, hadn't she got her revenge, without even realizing she was doing it? Hadn't she set a boa constrictor on her?

Harley looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at her.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Harley Evans, not a witch -- you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

But Aunt Veronica wasn't going to give in without a fight.

"Haven't I told you she's not going?" she hissed. "She's going to Stonewall High and she'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and she needs all sorts of rubbish -- spell books and wands and --"

"If he wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop him," growled Hagrid. "Stop Liam an' Jaime Evans’ girl goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Her name's been down ever since she was born. She's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and she won't know herself. She'll be with youngsters of her own sort, fer a change, an' she'll be under the greatest headmistress Hogwarts ever had Allana Dumbled--"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Aunt Veronica.

But she had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized her umbrella and whirled it over her head, "NEVER," she thundered, "- INSULT- ALLANA- DUMBLEDORE- IN- FRONT- OF- ME!"

She brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dorothy -- there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dorothy was dancing on the spot with her hands clasped over her fat bottom, howling in pain. When she turned her back on them, Harley saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

Aunt Veronica roared. Pulling Uncle Peter and Dorothy into the other room, she cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.

Hagrid looked down at her umbrella and scratched her head.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," she said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn her into a pig, but I suppose she was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

She cast a sideways look at Harley under her bushy eyebrows.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," she said. "I'm -- er -- not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff -- one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harley.

"Oh, well -- I was at Hogwarts meself but I -- er -- got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore." 

"Why were you expelled?"

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

She took off her thick black coat and threw it to Harley.

"You can kip under that," she said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."


	5. Diagon Alley

Harley woke early the next morning. Although she could tell it was daylight, she kept her eyes shut tight.

"It was a dream,” she told herself firmly. "I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for witches. When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard."

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.

“And there's Uncle Peter knocking on the door,” Harley thought, her heart sinking. But she still didn't open her eyes. It had been such a good dream.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"All right," Harley mumbled, "I'm getting up."

She sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off her. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid herself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Harley scrambled to her feet, so happy she felt as though a large balloon was swelling inside her. She went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid's coat.

"Don't do that."

Harley tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at her and carried on savaging the coat.

"Hagrid!" said Harley loudly. "There's an owl,”

"Pay her," Hagrid grunted into the sofa.

"What?"

“She wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets." Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets -- bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags... finally, Harley pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.

"Knuts?"

"The little bronze ones."

Harley counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out his leg so Harley could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then he flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched.

"Best be off, Harley, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

Harley was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. She had just thought of something that made her feel as though the happy balloon inside her had got a puncture.

"Um -- Hagrid?"

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on her huge boots.

"I haven't got any money -- and you heard Aunt Veronica last night ... she won't pay for me to go and learn magic."

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching her head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

"But if their house was destroyed --"

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, girl! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold -- an' I wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have banks?"

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

Harley dropped the bit of sausage she was holding.

"Goblins?"

"Yeah -- so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harley. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe -- 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew herself up proudly. "She usually gets me ter do important stuff fer her. Fetchin' you gettin' things from Gringotts -- knows she can trust me, see.

"Got everythin'? Come on, then."Harley followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Aunt Veronica had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

"How did you get here?" Harley asked, looking around for another boat. "Flew," said Hagrid.

"Flew?"

"Yeah -- but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh."

They settled down in the boat, Harley still staring at Hagrid, trying to imagine her flying.

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Harley another of her sideways looks. "If I was ter -- er -- speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," said Harley, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harley asked.

"Spells -- enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding her newspaper as she spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the highsecurity vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way -- Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Harley sat and thought about this while Hagrid read her newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Harley had learned from Aunt Veronica that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, she'd never had so many questions in her life.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Harley asked, before she could stop himself.

"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o’course, but she'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Corinthia Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So she pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?"

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

"Why?"

"Why? Blimey, Harley, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone."

At this moment the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up her newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Harley couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, she kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Harley? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"

"Hagrid," said Harley, panting a bit as she ran to keep up, "did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd like one?"

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid -- here we go."

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money," as she called it, gave the bills to Harley so she could buy their tickets.

People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still got yer letter, Harley?" she asked as she counted stitches. Harley took the parchment envelope out of his pocket.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

Harley unfolded a second piece of paper she hadn't noticed the night before, and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4\. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bartholomew Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emetic Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Nina Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

wand cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) set

glass or crystal phials

telescope set

brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

"Can we buy all this in London?" Harley wondered aloud.

"If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid.

Harley had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where she was going, she was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. She got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," she said as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that she parted the crowd easily; all Harley had to do was keep close behind her. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke that the Evans’ had cooked up? If Harley hadn't known that the Evans’ had no sense of humor, she might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told her so far was unbelievable, Harley couldn't help trusting her.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harley wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Harley had the most peculiar feeling that only she and Hagrid could see it. Before she could mention this, Hagrid had steered her inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite short and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at her, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tara, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping her great hand on Harley's shoulder and making Harley's knees buckle.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry, "is this -- can this be --?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harley Evans... what an honor."

She hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harley and seized her hand, tears in her eyes.

"Welcome back, Ms. Evans, welcome back."

Harley didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at her. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harley found herself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Ms. Evans, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Ms. Evans, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand -- I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Ms. Evans, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Delphi Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harley, as Delphi Diggle's top hat fell off in her excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop."

"She remembers!" cried Delphi Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? She remembers me!" Harley shook hands again and again -- Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harley, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"E-E-Evans," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harley's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though she'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, E-E-Evans?" She laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." She looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harley to herself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make herself heard over the babble.

"Must get on -- lots ter buy. Come on, Harley."

Doris Crockford shook Harley's hand one last time, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Hagrid grinned at Harley.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh -- mind you, she's usually tremblin'."

"Is she always that nervous?"

"Oh, yeah. Poor bird. Brilliant mind. She was fine while she was studyin' outta books but then she took a year off ter get some firsthand experience.... They say she met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag -- never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of her own subject now, where's me umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags? Harley's head was swimming. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up... two across” she muttered. "Right, stand back, Harley."

She tapped the wall three times with the point of her umbrella.

The brick she had touched quivered -- it wriggled -- in the middle, a small hole appeared -- it grew wider and wider -- a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

She grinned at Harley's amazement. They stepped through the archway. Harley looked quickly over her shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons -- All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver -- Self-Stirring -- Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first."

Harley wished she had about eight more eyes. She turned her head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad...."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium -- Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Harley's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harley heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand -- fastest ever --" There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harley had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon....

"Gringotts," said Hagrid.

They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was -

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harley. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harley noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Harley made for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Ms. Harley Evans’ safe."

"You have her key, ma’am?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and she started emptying her pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled her nose. Harley watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," she said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside her pockets, she and Harley followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harley asked.

"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Griphook held the door open for them. Harley, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in -- Hagrid with some difficulty -- and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harley tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.

Harley's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but she kept them wide open. Once, he thought she saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late - - they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

“I never know," Harley called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid . "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

She did look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop her knees from trembling.

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harley gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"All yours," smiled Hagrid.

All Harley's -- it was incredible. The Evans couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from her faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Harley cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to her, buried deep under London.

Hagrid helped Harley pile some of it into a bag.

"The gold ones are Galleons," she explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." She turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook.

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harley leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled her back by the scruff of her neck.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. She stroked the door gently with one of her long fingers and it simply melted away.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harley asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.

Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault, Harley was sure, and she leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least -- but at first she thought it was empty. Then she noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside her coat. Harley longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Harley didn't know where to run first now that she had a bag full of money. She didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that she was holding more money than she'd had in her whole life -- more money than even Dorothy had ever had.

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Sir Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harley, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." She did still look a bit sick, so Harley entered Sir Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Sir Malkin was a squat, smiling wizard dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dear?" he said, when Harley started to speak. "Got the lot here -- another young woman being fitted up just now, in fact. "

In the back of the shop, a girl with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second wizard pinned up his long black robes. Sir Malkin stood Harley on a stool next to her, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the girl, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harley.

"My mother’s next door buying my books and father’s up the street looking at wands," said the girl. She had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully mother into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harley was strongly reminded of Dorothy.

"Have you got your own broom?" the girl went on.

"No," said Harley.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harley said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"I do -- Mother says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Harley, feeling more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been -- imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" 

"Mmm," said Harley, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that woman!" said the girl suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harley and pointing at two large ice creams to show she couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Harley, pleased to know something the girl didn't. "She works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the girl, "I've heard of her. She's a sort of servant, isn't she?"

"She's the gamekeeper," said Harley. She was liking the girl less and less every second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard she's a sort of savage -- lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then she gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think she's brilliant," said Harley coldly.

"Do you?" said the girl, with a slight sneer. "Why is she with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," said Harley shortly. Sshe didn't feel much like going into the matter with this girl.

"Oh, sorry," said the other, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before Harley could answer, Sir Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and Harley, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the girl, hopped down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling girl.

Harley was rather quiet as she ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought her (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Nothing," Harley lied. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harley cheered up a bit when she found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote. When they had left the shop, he said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

"Blimey, Harley, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know -- not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Harley. She told Hagrid about the pale girl in Sir Malkin's.

"--and she said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in."

"Yer not from a Muggle family. If she'd known who yeh were -- she's grown up knowin' yer name if her parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does she know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggles -- look at yer dad! Look what he had fer a brother!"

"So what is Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like -- like soccer in the Muggle world -- everyone follows Quidditch -- played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls -- sorta hard ter explain the rules." "And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"

"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but --"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff" said Harley gloomily.

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

"Vol-, sorry - You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.

They bought Harley's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Ddorothy, who never read anything, would have been wild to get her hands on some of these. Hagrid almost had to drag Harley away from Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue- Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"I was trying to find out how to curse Dorothy."

"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level."

Hagrid wouldn't let Harley buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says pewter on yer list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the woman behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harley, Harley herself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harley's list again.

"Just yer wand left - A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Harley felt herself go red.

"You don't have to --"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at - an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harley now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with his head under her wing. She couldn't stop stammering her thanks, sounding just like Professor Quirrell.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Evans’. Just Ollivanders left now - only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

A magic wand... this was what Harley had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Harley felt strangely as though she had entered a very strict library; she swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to her and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of her neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harley jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and she got quickly off the spindly chair.

An old woman was standing before them, her wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

“Hello," said Harley awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the woman. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harley Evans." It wasn't a question. "You have your father’s eyes. It seems only yesterday he was in here himself, buying his first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Ms. Ollivander moved closer to Harley. Harley wished she would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your mother, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your mother favored it -- it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Ms. Ollivander had come so close that she and Harley were almost nose to nose. Harley could see herself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where..."

Ms. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harley's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," she said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do...."

She shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Reia! Reia Hagrid! How nice to see you again.... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, ma’am, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Ms. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er -- yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling her feet. "I've still got the pieces, though,"s he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Ms. Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, ma’am," said Hagrid quickly. Harley noticed she gripped her pink umbrella very tightly as she spoke.

"Hmmm," said Ms. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now -- Ms. Evans. Let me see." She pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er -- well, I'm right-handed," said Harley.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." She measured Harley from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As she measured, she said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Ms. Evans. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harley suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Ms. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," she said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Ms. Evans. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

Harley took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Ms. Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try --"

Harley tried -- but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Ms. Ollivander.

"No, no -here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harley tried. And tried. She had no idea what Ms. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Ms. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier she seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere -- I wonder, now - - yes, why not -- unusual combination -- holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harley took the wand. She felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Ms. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious... "

She put Harley's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious..

"Sorry," said Harley, "but what's curious?"

Ms. Ollivander fixed Harley with her pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Ms. Evans. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather -- just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its sister why, its sister gave you that scar."

Harley swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember.... I think we must expect great things from you, Ms. Evans.... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things -- terrible, yes, but great."

Harley shivered. She wasn't sure she liked Ms. Ollivander too much. She paid seven gold Galleons for her wand, and Ms. Ollivander bowed them from her shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harley and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harley didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; she didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Harley's lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Harley only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped her on the shoulder.

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," she said.

She bought Harley a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Harley kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow.

"You all right, Harley? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.

Harley wasn't sure she could explain. She'd just had the best birthday of his life -- and yet -- she chewed his hamburger, trying to find the words.

"Everyone thinks I'm special," she said at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Ms. Ollivander... but I don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I'm famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Vol-, sorry -- I mean, the night my parents died."

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild hair and eyebrows she wore a very kind smile.

"Don' you worry, Harley. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts -- I did -- still do, 'smatter of fact."

Hagrid helped Harley on to the train that would take her back to the Evans’, then handed her an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, " she said. "First o' September -- King's Cross -- it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Evans’, send me a letter with yer owl, he'll know where to find me.... See yeh soon, Harley."

The train pulled out of the station. Harley wanted to watch Hagrid until she was out of sight; she rose in her seat and pressed her nose against the window, but she blinked and Hagrid had gone.


	6. The Journey From Platform Nine and Three Quarters

Harley's last month with the Evans’ wasn't fun. True, Dorothy was now so scared of Harley she wouldn't stay in the same room, while Aunt Veronica and Uncle Peter didn't shut Harley in her cupboard, force her to do anything, or shout at her -- in fact, they didn't speak to her at all. Half terrified, half furious, they acted as though any chair with Harley in it were empty. Although this was an improvement in many ways, it did become a bit depressing after a while.

Harley kept to her room, with her new owl for company. She had decided to call him Pollux, a name she had found in A History of Magic. Her school books were very interesting. She lay on her bed reading late into the night, Pollux swooping in and out of the open window as he pleased. It was lucky that Uncle Peter didn't come in to vacuum anymore, because Pollux kept bringing back dead mice. Every night before she went to sleep, Harley ticked off another day on the piece of paper she had pinned to the wall, counting down to September the first.

On the last day of August she thought she'd better speak to his aunt and uncle about getting to King's Cross station the next day, so she went down to the living room where they were watching a quiz show on television. She cleared his throat to let them know she was there, and Dorothy screamed and ran from the room.

"Er -- Aunt Veronica?"

Aunt Veronica grunted to show she was listening.

"Er -- I need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to -- to go to Hogwarts."

Aunt Veronica grunted again.

"Would it be all right if you gave me a lift?"

Grunt. Harley supposed that meant yes.

"Thank you."

She was about to go back upstairs when Aunt Veronica actually spoke.

"Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?"

Harley didn't say anything.

"Where is this school, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Harley, realizing this for the first time. She pulled the ticket Hagrid had given her out of her pocket.

"I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock," she read.

Her aunt and uncle stared.

"Platform what?"

"Nine and three-quarters."

"Don't talk rubbish," said Aunt Veronica. "There is no platform nine and three-quarters."

"It's on my ticket."

"Barking," said Aunt Veronica, "howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see. You just wait. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother."

"Why are you going to London?" Harley asked, trying to keep things friendly.

"Taking Dorothy to the hospital," growled Aunt Veronica. "Got to have that ruddy tail removed before she goes to Smeltings."

Harley woke at five o'clock the next morning and was too excited and nervous to go back to sleep. She got up and pulled on her jeans because she didn't want to walk into the station in her wizard's robes -- she'd change on the train. She checked her Hogwarts list yet again to make sure she had everything she needed, saw that Pollux was shut safely in her cage, and then paced the room, waiting for the Evans’ to get up. Two hours later, Harley's huge, heavy trunk had been loaded into the Evans’ car, Uncle Peter had talked Dorothy into sitting next to Harley, and they had set off.

They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Aunt Veronica dumped Harley's trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station for her. Harley thought this was strangely kind until Aunt Veronica stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on her face.

"Well, there you are, girl. Platform nine -- platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"

She was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

"Have a good term," said Aunt Veronica with an even nastier smile. She left without another word. Harley turned and saw the Evans’ drive away. All three of them were laughing. Harley's mouth went rather dry. What on earth was she going to do? She was starting to attract a lot of funny looks, because of Pollux. She'd have to ask someone.

She stopped a passing guard, but didn't dare mention platform nine and three-quarters. The guard had never heard of Hogwarts and when Harley couldn't even tell him what part of the country it was in, he started to get annoyed, as though Harley was being stupid on purpose. Getting desperate, Harley asked for the train that left at eleven o'clock, but the guard said there wasn't one. In the end the guard strode away, muttering about time wasters. Harley was now trying hard not to panic. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, she had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and she had no idea how to do it; she was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk he could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money, and a large owl.

Hagrid must have forgotten to tell her something you had to do, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. She wondered if she should get out her wand and start tapping the ticket inspector's stand between platforms nine and ten.

At that moment a group of people passed just behind her and she caught a few words of what they were saying.

"-- packed with Muggles, of course --"

Harley swung round. The speaker was a plump man who was talking to four girls, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Harley's in front of her -- and they had an owl.

Heart hammering, Harley pushed his cart after them. They stopped and so did she, just near enough to hear what they were saying.

"Now, what's the platform number?" said the girls’ father.

"Nine and three-quarters!" piped a small boy, also red-headed, who was holding his hand, “Dad, can't I go... "

"You're not old enough, Gio, now be quiet. All right, Peggy, you go first."

What looked like the oldest girl marched toward platforms nine and ten. Harley watched, careful not to blink in case she missed it -- but just as the girl reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of her and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the girl had vanished.

"Faith, you next," the plump man said.

"I'm not Faith, I'm Grace," said the girl. "Honestly,man, you call yourself our father? Can’t you tell I'm Grace?"

"Sorry, Grace, dear."

"Only joking, I am Faith," said the girl, and off she went. Her twin called after her to hurry up, and she must have done so, because a second later, she had gone -- but how had she done it?

Now the third sister was walking briskly toward the barrier she was almost there -- and then, quite suddenly, she wasn't anywhere.

There was nothing else for it.

"Excuse me," Harley said to the plump man.

"Hello, dear," he said. "First time at Hogwarts? Rory's new, too."

He pointed at the last and youngest of his daughters. She was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

"Yes," said Harley. "The thing is -- the thing is, I don't know how to --"

"How to get onto the platform?" he said kindly, and Harley nodded.

"Not to worry," he said. "All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Rory."

"Er -- okay," said Harley.

She pushed her trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid.

She started to walk toward it. People jostled her on their way to platforms nine and ten. Harley walked more quickly. She was going to smash right into that barrier and then she'd be in trouble -- leaning forward on her cart, she broke into a heavy run -- the barrier was coming nearer and nearer -- she wouldn't be able to stop -- the cart was out of control -- she was a foot away -- she closed her eyes ready for the crash --

It didn't come... she kept on running... she opened his eyes. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Harley looked behind her and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. She had done it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harley pushed her cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat. She passed a round-faced girl who was saying, "Gramp, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Nevaeh," she heard the old man sigh.

A girl with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lynn, go on."

The girl lifted the lid of a box in her arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harley pressed on through the crowd until she found an empty compartment near the end of the train. She put Pollux inside first and then started to shove and heave her trunk toward the train door. She tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice she dropped it painfully on his foot.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired twins she'd followed through the barrier.

"Yes, please," Harley panted.

"Oy, Faith! C'mere and help!"

With the twins' help, Harley's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

"Thanks," said Harley, pushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes.

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harley's lightning scar.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you”

"She is," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" she added to Harley.

"What?" said Harley.

“Harley Evans," chorused the twins.

"Oh, her," said Harley. "I mean, yes, I am."

The two girls gawked at her, and Harley felt herself turning red. Then, to her relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.

"Faith? Grace? Are you there?"

"Coming, Dad."

With a last look at Harley, the twins hopped off the train.

Harley sat down next to the window where, half hidden, she could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their father had just taken out his handkerchief.

"Rory, you've got something on your nose."

The youngest girl tried to jerk out of the way, but he grabbed her and began rubbing the end of her nose.

"Dad -- geroff" She wriggled free.

"Aaah, has ickle Rory got somefink on her nosie?" said one of the twins.

"Shut up," said Rory.

"Where's Peggy?" said their father.

"She's coming now."

The oldest girl came striding into sight. She had already changed into her billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Harley noticed a shiny silver badge on her chest with the letter P on it.

"Can't stay long, Father," she said. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves --"

"Oh, are you a prefect, Peggy?" said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin. "Once --"

"Or twice --"

"A minute --"

"All summer --"

"Oh, shut up," said Peggy the Prefect.

"How come Peggy gets new robes, anyway?" said one of the twins.

"Because he's a prefect," said their father fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term -- send me an owl when you get there."

He kissed Peggy on the cheek and she left. Then he turned to the twins.

"Now, you two -- this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've -- you've blown up a toilet or --"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Dad."

"It's not funny. And look after Rory."

"Don't worry, ickle Roriekins is safe with us."

"Shut up," said Rory again. She was almost as tall as the twins already and her nose was still pink where her father had rubbed it.

"Hey, Dad, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?"

Harley leaned back quickly so they couldn't see her looking.

"You know that black-haired girl who was near us in the station? Know who she is?"

"Who?"

"Harley Evans!"

Harley heard the little boy’s voice.

"Oh, Dad, can I go on the train and see him, Dad, eh please...."

"You've already seen him, Gio, and the poor girl isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is she really, Faith? How do you know?"

"Asked her. Saw her scar. It's really there - like lightning."

"Poor dear - no wonder she was alone, I wondered. She was ever so polite whens he asked how to get onto the platform."

"Never mind that, do you think she remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?"

Their father suddenly became very stern.

"I forbid you to ask him, Faith. No, don't you dare. As though she needs reminding of that on her first day at school."

"All right, keep your hair on."

A whistle sounded.

"Hurry up!" their father said, and the three girls clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for him to kiss them good-bye, and their younger brother began to cry.

"Don't, Gio, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

"Grace!"

"Only joking, Dad."

The train began to move. Harley saw the girls' father waving and their brother, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then he fell back and waved.

Harley watched the boy and her father disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Harley felt a great leap of excitement. She didn't know what she was going to but it had to be better than what she was leaving behind.

The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest redheaded girl came in.

"Anyone sitting there?" she asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harley. "Everywhere else is full."

Harley shook her head and the girl sat down. She glanced at Harley and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending she hadn't looked. Harley saw she still had a black mark on her nose.

"Hey, Rory."

The twins were back.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train -- Lynn Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbled Rory.

"Harley," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Faith and Grace Weasley. And this is Rory, our sister. See you later, then.”

"Bye," said Harley and Rory. The twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

"Are you really Harley Evans?" Rory blurted out.

Harley nodded.

"Oh -well, I thought it might be one of Faith and Grace’s jokes," said Rory. "And have you really got -- you know..."

She pointed at Harley's forehead.

Harley pulled back her bangs to show the lightning scar. Rory stared.

"So that's where You-Know-Who

"Yes," said Harley, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" said Rory eagerly.

"Well -- I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

"Wow," said Rory. She sat and stared at Harley for a few moments, then, as though she had suddenly realized what she was doing, she looked quickly out of the window again.

"Are all your family wizards?" asked Harley, who found Rory just as interesting as Rory found her.

"Er -- Yes, I think so," said Rory. "I think Dad’s got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about her."

"So you must know loads of magic already."

The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pale girl in Diagon Alley had talked about.

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Rory. "What are they like?"

"Horrible -well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had three wizard sisters."

"Five," said Rory. For some reason, she was looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bianca and Chamomile have already left -- Bianca was head girl and Cham was captain of Quidditch. Now Peggy's a prefect. Faith and Grace mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five sisters. I've got Bianca's old robes, Cham's old wand, and Peggy's old rat."

Rory reached inside her jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep.

"Her name's Scabbers and she's useless, she hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my mum for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff -- I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Rory's ears went pink. She seemed to think she'd said too much, because she went back to staring out of the window.

Harley didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, she'd never had any money in his life until a month ago, and she told Rory so, all about having to wear Dorothy’s old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Rory up.

"... and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about being a witch or about my parents or Voldemort"

Rory gasped.

"What?" said Harley.

"You said You-Know-Who's name!" said Rory, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people --"

"I'm not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name," said Harley, I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn.... I bet," she added, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying her a lot lately, "I bet I'm the worst in the class ."

"You won't be. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough."

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled man slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Harley, who hadn't had any breakfast, leapt to her feet, but Rory's ears went pink again and she muttered that she'd brought sandwiches. Harley went out into the corridor.

She had never had any money for candy with the Evans’, and now that she had pockets rattling with gold and silver she was ready to buy as many Mars Bars as she could carry -- but the man didn't have Mars Bars. What he did have were Benny Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Harley had never seen in her life. Not wanting to miss anything, she got some of everything and paid the man eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Rory stared as Harley brought it all back in to the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat.

"Hungry, are you?"

"Starving," said Harley, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

Rory had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside. She pulled one of them apart and said, "He always forgets I don't like corned beef."

"Swap you for one of these," said Harley, holding up a pasty. "Go on --"

"You don't want this, it's all dry," said Rory. "He hasn't got much time," she added quickly, "you know, with five of us."

"Go on, have a pasty," said Harley, who had never had anything to share before or, indeed, anyone to share it with. It was a nice feeling, sitting there with Rory, eating their way through all Harley's pasties, cakes, and candies (the sandwiches lay forgotten).

"What are these?" Harley asked Rory, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. "They're not really frogs, are they?" She was starting to feel that nothing would surprise him.

"No," said Rory. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know -- Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside them, you know, to collect -- famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."

Harley unwrapped her Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a woman's face. SHe wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair that went down all the way out of the picture frame. Underneath the picture was the name Allana Dumbledore.

"So this is Dumbledore!" said Harley.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Rory. "Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa -- thanks.”

Harley turned over her card and read:

ALLANA DUMBLEDORE

CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

Considered by many the greatest witch of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for her defeat of the dark witch Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and her work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolette Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Harley turned the card back over and saw, to her astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"She's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect her to hang around all day," said Rory. "She'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her... do you want it? You can start collecting."

Rory's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Help yourself," said Harley. "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos."

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Rory sounded amazed. "weird!"

Harley stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on her card and gave her a small smile. Rory was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Harley couldn't keep her eyes off them. Soon she had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. She finally tore her eyes away from the druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Benny Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," Rory warned Harley. "When they say every flavor, they mean every flavor -- you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and mar- malade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. Grace reckons she had a booger- flavored one once."

Rory picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into a corner.

"Bleaaargh -- see? Sprouts."

They had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. Harley got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was even brave enough to nibble the end off a funny gray one Rory wouldn't touch, which turned out to be pepper.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced girl Harley had passed on platform nine and three quarters came in. She looked tearful.

"Sorry," she said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shook their heads, she wailed, "I've lost her! She keeps getting away from me!"

"She'll turn up," said Harley.

"Yes," said the girl miserably. "Well, if you see him..."

She left.

"Don't know why she's so bothered," said Rory. "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

The rat was still snoozing on Rory's lap.

"She might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," said Rory in disgust. "I tried to turn her yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look..."

She rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway”

She had just raised her wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless girl was back, but this time she had a boy with her. He was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Nevaeh's lost one," he said. He had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

"We've already told her we haven't seen it," said Rort, but the boy wasn't listening, he was looking at the wand in her hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

He sat down. Rory looked taken aback.

"Er -- all right."

She cleared her throat.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

She waved her wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the boy. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard -- I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough -- I'm Heracles Granger, by the way, who are you.

He said all this very fast.

Harley looked at Rory, and was relieved to see by her stunned face that she hadn't learned all the course books by heart either.

"I'm Rory Weasley," Rory muttered.

"Harley Evans," said Harley.

"Are you really?" said Heracles. "I know all about you, of course -- I got a few extra books. for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.

"Am I?" said Harley, feeling dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Heracles. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore herself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad.... Anyway, we'd better go and look for Nevaeh’s toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And he left, taking the toadless girl with her.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope he's not in it," said Rory. She threw her wand back into her trunk. "Stupid spell -- Grace gave it to me, bet she knew it was a dud."

"What house are your sisters in?" asked Harley.

"Gryffindor," said Rory. Gloom seemed to be settling on her again. "Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the house Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. She flopped back into her seat, looking depressed.

"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter," said Harley, trying to take Rory's mind off houses. "So what do your oldest sisters do now that they've left, anyway?"

Harley was wondering what a witch did once she'd finished school.

"Cham's in Romania studying dragons, and Bianca's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Rory. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles -- someone tried to rob a high security vault."

Harley stared.

"Really? What happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My mum says it must've been a powerful dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Harley turned this news over in her mind. She was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You- Know-Who was mentioned. She supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying "Voldemort" without worrying.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Rory asked.

"Er -- I don't know any," Harley confessed.

"What!" Rory looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world --" And she was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games she'd been to with his sisters and the broomstick she'd like to get if she had the money. She was just taking Harley through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Nevaeh the toadless girl, or Heracles Granger this time.

Three girls entered, and Harley recognized the middle one at once: it was the pale girl from Sir Malkin's robe shop. She was looking at Harley with a lot more interest than she'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

"Is it true?" she said. "They're saying all down the train that Harley Evans' in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Harley. She was looking at the other girls. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale girl, they looked like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale girl carelessly, noticing where Harley was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Danika Malfoy."

Rory gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a laugh. Danika Malfoy looked at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My mother told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

She turned back to Harley. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Evans. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

She held out her hand to shake Harley's, but Harley didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," she said coolly.

Danika Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in her pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Evans," she said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Both Harley and Rory stood up.

"Say that again," Rory said, her face as red as her hair.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneered.

"Unless you get out now," said Harley, more bravely than she felt, because Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than her or Rory.

"But we don't feet like leaving, do we, girls? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Rory - Rory leapt forward, but before she'd so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell.

Scabbers the rat was hanging off her finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle's knuckle - Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, howling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once. Perhaps they thought there were more rats lurking among the sweets, or perhaps they'd heard footsteps, because a second later, Heracles Granger had come in.

"What has been going on?" he said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Rory picking up Scabbers by his tail.

“I think she's been knocked out," Rory said to Harley. She looked closer at Scabbers. "No -- I don't believe it -- she's gone back to sleep-"

And so she had.

"You've met Malfoy before?"

Harley explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of her family," said Rory darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My mum doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's mother didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." She turned to Heracles. "Can we help you with something?"

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," said Rory, scowling at him. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

"All right -- I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," said Heracles in a sniffy voice. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Rory glared at him as he left. Harley peered out of the window. It was getting dark. She could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down.

She and Rory took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes. Rory's skirt was abit shorter on her than Harley’s, but she didn’t mention it.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Harley's stomach lurched with nerves and Rory, she saw, looked pale under her freckles. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harley shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harley heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harley?"

Hagrid's big smiley face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me -- any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harley thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Nevaeh, the girl who kept losing her toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over her shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black take. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harley and Rory were followed into their boat by Nevaeh and Heracles. "Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to herself. "Right then -- FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Tessa!" cried Nevaeh blissfully, holding out her hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	7. The Sorting Hat

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired wizard in emerald-green robes stood there. He had a very stern face and Harley's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

He pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Evans’ house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harley could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right -the rest of the school must already be here -- but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

His eyes lingered for a moment on Nevaeh's cloak, which was fastened under her left ear, and on Rory's smudged nose. Harley nervously tried to flatten her hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

He left the chamber. Harley swallowed.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" she asked Rory.

"Some sort of test, I think. Faith said it hurts a lot, but I think she was joking."

Harley's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But she didn't know any magic yet -- what on earth would she have to do? She hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived. She looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one was talking much except Heracles Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells he'd learned and wondering which one he'd need. Harley tried hard not to listen to him. She'd never been more nervous, never, not even when she'd had to take a school report home to the Evans’ saying that she'd somehow turned her teacher's wig blue. She kept her eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead her to her doom.

Then something happened that made her jump about a foot in the air -- several people behind her screamed.

"What the --?"

She gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance --"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost -- I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though her legs had turned to lead, Harley got into line behind a girl with sandy hair, with Rory behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harley had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harley looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. She heard Heracles whisper, "Its bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History." 

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Harley quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool he put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Uncle Peter wouldn't have let it in the house.

Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Harley thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing -- noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, she stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth -- and the hat began to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffis are true And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again. 

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Rory whispered to Harley. "I'll kill Faith, she was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harley smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, buts he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harley didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," he said. "Abbott, Hansen!"

A pink-faced boy with blonde curls stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over his eyes, and sat down. A moments pause --

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hansen went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harley saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at him.

"Bones, Sutton!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Sutton scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Teagen!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Teagen as she joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Michael" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Landon" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harley could see Rory's twin sisters catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Middleton" then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harley's imagination, after all she'd heard about Slytherin, but she thought they looked like an unpleasant lot. She was starting to feel definitely sick now. She remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school. She had always been last to be chosen, not because she was no good, but because no one wanted Dorothy to think they liked her.

"Finch-Fletchley, Jasmine!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Harley noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Siobhan," the sandy-haired girl next to Harley in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared her a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Heracles!"

Heracles almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on his head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Rory groaned.

A horrible thought struck Harley, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if she wasn't chosen at all? What if she just sat there with the hat over her eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off her head and said there had obviously been a mistake and she'd better get back on the train?

When Nevaeh Longbottom, the girl who kept losing her toad, was called, she fell over on her way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Nevaeh. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Nevaeh ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Marley."

Malfoy swaggered forward when her name was called and got her wish at once: the hat had barely touched her head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join her friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with herself.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a pair of twin boys, "Patil" and "Patil" then "Perks, Sam-Anthony" and then, at last -- "Evans, Harley!"

As Harley stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Evans, did he say?"

”The Harley Evans?"

The last thing Harley saw before the hat dropped over her eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at her. Next second she was looking at the black inside of the hat. She waited.

“Hmm," said a small voice in her ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, my goodness, yes -- and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting.... So where shall I put you?"

Harley gripped the edges of the stool and thought,  _ Not Slytherin, not Slytherin _ .

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that -- no? Well, if you're sure -- better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harley heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. She took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. She was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, she hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Peggy the Prefect got up and shook her hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Evans! We got Evans!" Harley sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff she'd seen earlier. The ghost patted her arm, giving Harley the sudden, horrible feeling she'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

She could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest her sat Hagrid, who caught her eye and gave her the thumbs up. Harley grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Allana Dumbledore. Harley recognized her at once from the card she'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harley spotted Professor Quirtell, too, the nervous young woman from the Leaky Cauldron. She was wearing a large purple hijab that she wasn’t wearing in the Leaky Cauldron.

And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Della," a black girl even taller than Rory, joined Harley at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Rory's turn. She was pale green by now. Harley crossed her fingers under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harley clapped loudly with the rest as Rory collapsed into the chair next to her.

"Well done, Rory, excellent," said Peggy Weasley pompously across Harley as "Zabini, Blanchard," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up his scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Harley looked down at her empty gold plate. She had only just realized how hungry she was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Allana Dumbledore had gotten to her feet. She was beaming at the students, her arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased her more than to see them all there.

"Welcome," she said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

She sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harley didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is she -- a bit mad?" she asked Peggy uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Peggy airily. "She's a genius! Best witch in the world! But she is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harley?"

Harley's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of her were now piled with food. She had never seen so many things she liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Evans had never exactly starved Harley, but she'd never been allowed to eat as much as she liked. Dorothy had always taken anything that Harley really wanted, even if it made her sick. Harley piled her plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harley cut up her steak,

"Can't you --?"

“I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've in troduced myself? Madam Nithanya de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" said Rory suddenly. "My sisters told me about you -- you're Nearly Headless Nith!"

"I would prefer you to call me Madam Nithanya de Mimsy --" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Siobhan Finnigan interrupted.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

Madam Nithanya looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way she wanted.

"Like this," she said irritably. She seized her left ear and pulled. Her whole head swung off her neck and fell onto her shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead her, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nith flipped her head back onto her neck, coughed, and said, "So -- new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baroness' becoming almost unbearable -- she's the Slytherin ghost."

Harley looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. She was right next to Malfoy who, Harley was pleased to see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did she get covered in blood?" asked Siobhan with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nith delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding. As Harley helped herself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Siobhan. "Me mum's a Muggle. Dad didn't tell her he was a wizard 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for her."

The others laughed.

"What about you, Nevaeh?" said Rory.

"Well, my gramp brought me up and he's a wizard," said Nevaeh, "but the family thought I was all-muggle for ages. My Great Aunt Angie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me -- she pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned -- but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Aunt Angie came round for dinner, and she was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Uncle Edwin offered her a meringue and she accidentally let go. But I bounced -- all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gramp was crying, he was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here -- they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Aunt Angie was so pleased she bought me my toad."

On Harley's other side, Peggy Weasley and Heracles were talking about lessons ("I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult-"; "You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing -- ").

Harley, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from her goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in her purple hijab, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's hijab straight into Harley's eyes -- and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harley's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harley clapped a hand to her head.

"What is it?" asked Peggy.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harley had gotten from the teacher's look -- a feeling that she didn't like Harley at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" she asked Peggy.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder she's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. She teaches Potions, but she doesn't want to -- everyone knows she's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Harley watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at her again.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to her feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahern -- just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mrs. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Sir Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harley laughed, but she was one of the few who did.

"She's not serious?" he muttered to Peggy.

"Must be," said Peggy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because she usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere -- the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think she might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harley noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave her wand a little flick, as if she was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!" And the school bellowed:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with her wand and when they had finished, she was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," she said, wiping her eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed Peggy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harley's legs were like lead again, but only because she was so tired and full of food. She was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Peggy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harley was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Peggy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at her.

"Peeves," Peggy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." She raised his voice, "Peeves -- show yourself"

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baroness?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross- legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baroness'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Peggy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Nevaeh’s head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.

You want to watch out for Peeves," said Peggy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baroness' the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat man in pink silk robes.

"Password?" he said. "Caput Draconis," said Peggy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it -- Nevaeh needed a leg up -- and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Peggy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase -- they were obviously in one of the towers -- they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed.

"Great food, isn't it?" Rory muttered to Harley through the hangings. "Get off, Scabbers! She's chewing my sheets."

Harley was going to ask Rory if she'd had any of the treacle tart, but she fell asleep almost at once.

Perhaps Harley had eaten a bit too much, because she had a very strange dream. She was wearing Professor Quirrell's hijab, which kept talking to her, telling him she must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was her destiny. Harley told the hijab she didn't want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; she tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully -- and there was Malfoy, laughing at her as she struggled with it -then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh became high and cold -- there was a burst of green light and Harley woke, sweating and shaking.

She rolled over and fell asleep again, and when she woke next day, she didn't remember the dream at all.


	8. The Potions Master

“There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall girl with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see her face?"

"Did you see her scar?"

Whispers followed Harley from the moment she left her dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at her, or doubled back to pass her in the corridors again, staring. Harley wished they wouldn't, because she was trying to concentrate on finding her way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harley was sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nith was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Arciela Filch. Harley and Rory managed to get on the wrong side of her on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. She wouldn't believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mr. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. He patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of him, put just one toe out of line, and he'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated her, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mr. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harley quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets, which use the same books she picked Pollux’s name from. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little wizard called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when she had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving her body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little witch who had to stand on a pile of books to see over her desk. At the start of their first class she took the roll call, and when he reached Harley's name she gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harley had been quite right to think he wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, he gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in his first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," he said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then he changed his desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Heracles Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Heracles a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. Her classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire she'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. Her hijab, she told them, had been given to her by an African princess as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Siobhan Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the hijab, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever she went.

Harley was very relieved to find out that she wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like her, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Rory didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for Harley and Rory. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

"What have we got today?" Harley asked Rory as she poured sugar on her porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Rory "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say she always favors them -- we'll be able to see if it's true."

"Wish McGonagall favored us, " said Harley. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped him from giving them a huge pile of homework the day before.

Just then, the mail arrived. Harley had gotten used to this by now, but it had given her a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Pollux hadn't brought Harley anything so far. He sometimes flew in to nibble her ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, he fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harley's plate. Harley tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

Dear Harley,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Pollux.

Hagrid

Harley borrowed Rory's quill, scribbled  _ Yes, please, see you later  _ on the back of the note, and sent Pollux off again.

It was lucky that Harley had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to her so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harley had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked her. By the end of the first Potions lesson, she knew she'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harley -- she hated her.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harley's name.

"Ah, Yes," she said softly, "Harley Evans. Our new -- celebrity."

Danika Malfoy and her friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. Her eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," she began . She spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word -- like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harley and Rory exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Heracles Granger was on the edge of his seat and looked desperate to start proving that he wasn't a dunderhead.

"Evans!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harley glanced at Rory, who looked as stumped as he was; Heracles’ hand had shot into the air.

"I don't know, ma’am," said Harley.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut -- fame clearly isn't everything."

She ignored Heracles’ hand.

"Let's try again. Evans, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Heracles stretched his hand as high into the air as it would go without him leaving his seat, but Harley didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. She tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, ma’am." 

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Evans?" Harley forced herself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. She had looked through her books at the Evans’, but did Snape expect her to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?

Snape was still ignoring Heracles’ quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Evans, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Heracles stood up, his hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," said Harley quietly. "I think Heracles does, though, why don't you try him?"

A few people laughed; Harley caught Siobhan’s eye, and Siobhan winked. Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Sit down," she snapped at Heracles. "For your information, Evans, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Evans."

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. She swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom she seemed to like. She was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed her horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Nevaeh had somehow managed to melt Siobhan's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Nevaeh, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over her arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Nevaeh whimpered as boils started to pop up all over her nose.

"Take her up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Siobhan. Then she rounded on Harley and Rory, who had been working next to Nevaeh.

"You -- Evans -- why didn't you tell her not to add the quills? Thought she'd make you look good if she got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

This was so unfair that Harley opened her mouth to argue, but Rory kicked her behind their cauldron.

"Don’t push it," she muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harley's mind was racing and her spirits were low. She'd lost two points for Gryffindor in her very first week -- why did Snape hate her so much? "Cheer up," said Rory, "Snape's always taking points off Faith and Grace. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harley knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Ivy -- back."

Hagrid's big, smiley face appeared in the crack as she pulled the door open.

"Hang on," she said. "Back, Ivy."

She let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Ivy, who bounded straight at Rory and started licking her ears. Like Hagrid, Ivy was clearly not as fierce as she looked.

"This is Rory," Harley told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Rory's freckles. “I spent half me life chasin' yer twin sisters away from the forest."

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Harley and Rory pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Ivy rested her head on Harley's knee and drooled all over his robes.

Harley and Rory were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that old bat."

"An' as fer that cat, Mr. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Ivy sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, he follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of him -- Filch puts ‘im up to it."

Harley told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Rory, told Harley not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But she seemed to really hate me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should she?"

Yet Harley couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet her eyes when she said that.

"How's yer sister Cham?" Hagrid asked Rory. "I liked her a lot -- great with animals."

Harley wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Rory told Hagrid all about Cham's work with dragons, Harley picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokes goblin this afternoon.

Harley remembered Rory telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Rory hadn't mentioned the date.

"Hagrid!" said Harley, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harley's eyes this time. She grunted and offered her another rock cake. Harley read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Harley and Rory walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harley thought that none of the lessons she'd had so far had given her as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that she didn't want to tell Harley?


	9. The Midnight Duel

Harley had never believed she would meet a girl she hated more than Dorothy, but that was before she met Danika Malfoy.

Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to put up with Malfoy much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday -- and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," said Harley darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

She had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else.

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Rory reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good she is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. She complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with her narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. She wasn't the only one, though: the way Siobhan Finnigan told it, she'd spent most of her childhood zooming around the countryside on her broomstick. Even Rory would tell anyone who'd listen about the time she'd almost hit a hang glider on Cham's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Rory had already had a big argument with Della Thomas, who shared their dormitory, about soccer. Rory couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Harley had caught Rory prodding Della's poster of West Ham soccer team, trying to make the players move.

Nevaeh had never been on a broomstick in her life, because her grandfather had never let her near one. Privately, Harley felt he'd had good reason, because Nevaeh managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Heracles Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Nevaeh was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book -- not that he hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday he bored them all stupid with flying tips he'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Nevaeh was hanging on to his every word, desperate for anything that might help her hang on to her broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Heacles’ lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Harley hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing her packages of sweets from home, which she opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

A barn owl brought Nevaeh a small package from his grandfather. She opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" she explained. "Gramp knows I forget things -- this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red -- oh..." Her face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet,

"You've forgotten something..."

Neveah was trying to remember what she'd forgotten when Danika Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of her hand.

Harley and Rory jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfay, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," she said, and she sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind her.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harley, Rory, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harley had heard Faith and Grace Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Sir Hooch, arrived. He had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" he barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harley glanced down at her broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Sir Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!"'

"UP!” everyone shouted.

Harley's broom jumped into her hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Heracles Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Nevah’s hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harley; there was a quaver in Nevaeh's voice that said only too clearly that she wanted to keep her feet on the ground.

Sir Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harley and Rory were delighted when he told Malfoy she'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Sir Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle -- three -- two --"

But Nevaeh, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Sir Hooch's lips.

"Come back, Longbottom!" he shouted, but Nevaeh was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle -- twelve feet -- twenty feet. Harley saw her scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw her gasp, slip sideways off the broom and --

WHAM -- a thud and a nasty crack and Nevaeh lay facedown on the grass in a heap. Her broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Sir Hooch was bending over Nevaeh, his face as white as hers.

"Broken wrist," Harley heard him mutter. "Come on, girl -- it's all right, up you get.".

He turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this girl to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Nevaeh, her face tear-streaked, clutching her wrist, hobbled off with Sir Hooch, who had his arm around her.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see her face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvan Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Patrick Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin boy. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Param."

"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gramp sent her."

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as she held it up.

"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harley quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Malfoy smiled nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find -- how about -- up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harley yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto her broomstick and taken off. She hadn't been lying, she could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak she called, "Come and get it, Evans!"

Harley grabbed her broom.

"No!" shouted Heracles Granger. "Sir Hooch told us not to move -- you'll get us all into trouble."

Harley ignored him. Blood was pounding in her ears. She mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up she soared; air rushed through her hair, and her robes whipped out behind her -and in a rush of fierce joy he realized she'd found something he could do without being taught -- this was easy, this was wonderful. She pulled her broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of people back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Rory.

She turned her broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned.

"Give it here," Harley called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!" 

"Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Harley knew, somehow, what to do. She leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harley made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harley called.

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.

"Catch it if you can, then!" she shouted, and she threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Harley saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. She leaned forward and pointed her broom handle down -- next second she was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball -- wind whistled in her ears, mingled with the screams of people watching -- she stretched out his hand -- a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull her broom straight, and she toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in her fist.

"HARLEY EVANS!"

Her heart sank faster than she'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. She got to his feet, trembling.

"Never -- in all my time at Hogwarts --"

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and his glasses flashed furiously, "-- how dare you -- might have broken your neck --"

"It wasn't her fault, Professor --"

"Be quiet, Mister Patil

"But Malfoy --"

"That's enough, Miss Weasley. Evans, follow me, now."

Harley caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as she left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as he strode toward the castle. She was going to be expelled, she just knew it. She wanted to say something to defend herself, but there seemed to be something wrong with her voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at her; she had to jog to keep up. Now she'd done it. She hadn't even lasted two weeks. She'd be packing her bags in ten minutes. What would the Evans’ say when she turned up on the doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to her. He wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harley trotting miserably behind him. Maybe he was taking her to Dumbledore. She thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps she could be Hagrid's assistant. Her stomach twisted as she imagined it, watching Rory and the others becoming wizards, while she stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. He opened the door and poked his head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Wood? thought Harley, bewildered; was that a cane he was going to use on her?

But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year girl who came out of Flitwick's class looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harley.

"In here."

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" he barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two girls.

"Potter, this is Olympia Wood. Wood -- I've found you a Seeker."

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The girl's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Evans?"

Harley nodded silently. She didn't have a clue what was going on, but she didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to her legs.

"She caught that thing in her hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch herself. Cham Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood was now looking as though all her dreams had come true at once.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Evans?" she asked excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.

"She's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Harley and staring at her. "Light -- speedy -- we'll have to get her a decent broom, Professor -- a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Seanna Snape in the face for weeks...."

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over his glasses at Harley.

"I want to hear you're training hard, Evans, or I may change my mind about punishing you."

Then he suddenly smiled.

"Your mother would have been proud," he said. "She was an excellent Quidditch player herself, you know. A chaser."

"You're joking."

It was dinnertime. Harley had just finished telling Rory what had happened when she'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Rory had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to her mouth, but she'd forgotten all about it.

"Seeker?" she said. "But first years never -- you must be the youngest house player in”

“About a century,” said Harley, shoveling pie into her mouth. She felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Wood told me."

Rory was so amazed, so impressed, she just sat and gaped at Harley.

"I start training next week," said Harley. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."

Faith and Grace Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harley, and hurried over.

"Well done," said Grace in a low voice . "Wood told us. We're on the team too -- Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," said Faith. "We haven't won since Cham left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harley, Wood was almost skipping when she told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go, Lynn Jordan reckons she's found a new secret passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."

Faith and Grace had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Evans? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harley coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only -- no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course she has," said Rory, wheeling around. "I'm herr second, who's yours?"

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," she said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked.”

When Malfoy had gone, Rory and Harley looked at each other. "What is a wizard's duel?" said Harley. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"

"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Rory casually, getting started at last on her cold pie. Catching the look on Harley's face, she added quickly, "But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet she expected you to refuse, anyway."

"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"

"Throw it away and punch her on the nose," Rory suggested. 

"Excuse me." They both looked up. It was Heracles Granger.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Rory.

Heracles ignored her and spoke to Harley.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying --"

"Bet you could," Rory muttered.

"--and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."

"And it's really none of your business," said Harley.

"Good-bye," said Rory.

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Harley thought, as she lay awake much later listening to Della and Siobhan falling asleep (Nevaeh wasn't back from the hospital wing). Rory had spent all evening giving him advice such as "If she tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them." There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mr. Norris, and Harley felt she was pushing her luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, Malfoys sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness - this was her big chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face. She couldn't miss it.

"Half-past eleven," Rory muttered at last, "we'd better go."

They pulled on their bathrobes, picked up their wands, and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, "I can't believe you're going to do this, Harley."

A lamp flickered on. It was Heracles Granger, wearing cream silk pajamas and a frown.

"You!" said Rory furiously. "Go back to bed!"

"I almost told your sister," Heracles snapped, "Peggy -- she's a prefect, she'd put a stop to this."

Harley couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering.

"Come on," she said to Rory. She pushed open the portrait of the Singing Man and climbed through the hole.

Herales wasn't going to give up that easily. He followed Rory through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

"Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."

"Go away." 

"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so --"

But what they were, they didn't find out. Heracles had turned to the portrait of the Singing Man to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Singing Man had gone on a nighttime visit and Heracles was locked out of Gryffindor tower.

"Now what am I going to do?" he asked shrilly.

"That's your problem," said Rory. "We've got to go, we’re going to be late."

They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Heracles caught up with them.

"I'm coming with you," he said.

"You are not."

"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If she finds all three of us I'll tell her the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up."

"You've got some nerve --" said Rory loudly.

"Shut up, both of you!" said Harley sharply. I heard something."

It was a sort of snuffling.

"Mr. Norris?" breathed Rory, squinting through the dark.

It wasn't Mr. Norris. It was Nevaeh. She was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

"Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."

"Keep your voice down, Nevaeh. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Singing Man's gone off somewhere."

"How's your arm?" said Harley.

"Fine," said Nevaeh, showing them. "Sir Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."

"Good - well, look, Nevaeh, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later --"

"Don't leave me!" said Nevaeh, scrambling to her feet, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baroness' been past twice already."

Rory looked at her watch and then glared furiously at Heracles and Nevaeh.

"If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you.”

Heracles opened his mouth, perhaps to tell Rory exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harley hissed at him to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harley expected to run into Filch or Mr. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harley took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by.

"She's late, maybe she's chickened out," Rory whispered.

Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harley had only just raised her wand when they heard someone speak -and it wasn't Malfoy.

"Sniff around, my love, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to Mr. Norris. Horror-struck, Harley waved madly at the other three to follow her as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Nevaeh’s robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard her mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way!" Harley mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Nevaeh suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run -she tripped, grabbed Rory around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Harley yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following -- they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harley in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going -- they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost her," Harley panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping her forehead. Nevaeh was bent double, wheezing and spluttering. She looked a sickly shade of green.

“I -- told -you," Heracles gasped, clutching at the stitch in his chest, "I -- told -- you."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," said Rory, panting "quickly as possible."

"Malfoy tricked you," Heracles said to Harley. "You realize that, don't you? She was never going to meet you -- Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped her off."

Harley knew he was probably right, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

"Let's go."

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves -- please -- you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackled.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," snapped Rory, taking a swipe at Peeves. This was a big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR"

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door -- and it was locked.

"This is it!" Rory moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "We're done for! This is the end!" They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as she could toward Peeves's shouts.

"Oh, move over," Heracles snarled. He grabbed Harley's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, “Alohomora!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open -- they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please."'

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

"All right -please."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"She thinks this door is locked," Harley whispered. "I think we'll be okay -- what, Nev?!" For Nevaeh had been tugging on the sleeve of Harley's robe for the last minute.

Harley turned around -- and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, she was sure she'd walked into a nightmare -- this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.

They weren't in a room, as she had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harley knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Harley groped for the doorknob -- between Filch and death, she'd take Filch.

They fell backward -- Harley slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see her anywhere, but they hardly cared -- all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Singing Man on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" he asked, looking at their flushed, sweaty faces and frightened expressions.

"Never mind that, sir. Pig snout, pig snout," panted Harley, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Nevaeh, indeed, looked as if she'd never speak again.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Rory finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

Heracles had got both his breath and his bad temper back again. "You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" he snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?”

"The floor?" Harley suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads. As in  _ plural _ ."

"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something."

He stood up, glaring at them.

“I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed -- or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Rory stared after him, her mouth open.

"No, we don't mind," she mocked, but only once he was all the way up the staircase to the boys first year dormitory. "You'd think we dragged him along, wouldn't you?”

But Heracles had given Harley something else to think about as she climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something.... What had Hagrid said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide -- except perhaps Hogwarts.

It looked as though Harley had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.


	10. Halloween

Malfoy couldn't believe her eyes when she saw that Harley and Rory were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. Indeed, by the next morning Harley and Rory thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen to have another one. In the meantime, Harley filled Ron in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection. "It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Rory. "Or both," said Harley.

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.

Neither Nevaeh nor Heracles showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Nevaeh cared about was never going near the dog again.

Heracles was now refusing to speak to Harley and Rory, but he was such a bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus. All they really wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harley was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of her, knocking her bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Harley ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Olympia Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.

Professor McGonagall

Harley had difficulty hiding her glee as she handed the note to Rory to read.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Rory moaned enviously. "I've never even touched one."

They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the package from Harley and felt it.

"That's a broomstick," she said, throwing it back to Harley with a mixture of jealousy and spite on her face. "You'll be in for it this time, Evans, first years aren't allowed them."

Rory couldn't resist it.

"It's not any old broomstick," she said, "it's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Rory grinned at Harley. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose you and your sisters have to save up twig by twig."

Before Rory could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow.

"Not arguing, I hope, girls?" she squeaked.

"Evans’ been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harley. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Miss Evans. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, ma’am," said Harley, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy's face. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," she added.

Harley and Rory headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy's obvious rage and confusion. "Well, it's true," Harley chortled as they reached the top of the marble staircase, "If she hadn't stolen Nev's Remembrall I wouln't be on the team...."

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an angry voice from just behind them. Heracles was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harley's hand.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harley.

"Yes, don't stop now," said Rory, "it's doing us so much good."

Heracles marched away with his nose in the air.

Harley had a lot of trouble keeping her mind on her lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where her new broomstick was lying under he bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where she'd be learning to play that night. She scarfed down her dinner that evening without noticing what he was eating, and then rushed upstairs with Rory to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

"Wow," Rory sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harley's bedspread.

Even Harley, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Harley left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. She’d never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field Evans three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harley of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harley mounted her broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling -- she swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever she wanted at his lightest touch.

"Hey, Evans, come down!”

Olympia Wood had arrived. She was carrying a large wooden crate under her arm. Harley landed next to her.

"Very nice," said Wood, her eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall meant... you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

She opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

"Right," said Wood. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers."

"Three Chasers," Harley repeated, as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a soccer ball.

"This ball's called the Quaffle," said Wood. "The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?"

"The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score," Harley recited. "So -- that's sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn't it?"

"What's basketball?" said Wood curiously. "Never mind," said Harley quickly.

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper -I'm Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."

"Three Chasers, one Keeper," said Harley, who was determined to remember it all. "And they play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are they for?" She pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

"I'll show you now," said Wood. "Take this."

She handed Harley a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.

"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Wood said. "These two are the Bludgers."

She showed Harley two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Harley noted that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

"Stand back," Wood warned Harley. She bent down and freed one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Harley's face. Harley swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking her nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air -- it zoomed around their heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team -- the Weasley twins are ours -- it's their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So -- think you've got all that?"

"Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goal posts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team," Harley reeled off.

"Very good," said Wood.

"Er -- have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Harley asked, hoping she sounded offhand.

"Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers unless they crack my head open."

"Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers -- I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves."

Wood reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.

"This," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages -- I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep. "Well, that's it -- any questions?"

Harley shook her head. She understood what she had to do all right, it was doing it that was going to be the problem.

"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "it's too dark, we might lose it. Let's try you out with a few of these."

She pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of her pocket and a few minutes later, she and Harley were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as she could in every direction for Harley to catch.

Harley didn't miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After half an hour, night had really fallen and they couldn't carry on.

"That Quidditch cup'll have our name on it this year," said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better than Cham Weasley, and she could have played for England if she hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

Perhaps it was because she was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of all her homework, but Harley could hardly believe it when she realized that she'd already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had. Her lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that she thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen her make Nevaeh's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Harley's partner was Siobhan Finnigan (which was a worry, because even in the two months they’d been there Siobhan had gained a reputation as a pyrotechnic). Rory, however, was to be working with Heracles Granger. It was hard to tell whether Rory or Heracles was angrier about this. He hadn't spoken to either of them since the day Harley's broomstick had arrived. Rory called it a bloody blessing. Privately, Harley disagreed. She figured Heracles was better than Malfoy and Dorothy, and he seemed nice enough when you looked past the general stuck-up nature.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of her pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too -- never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest ."

It was very difficult. Harley and Siobhan swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. Siobhan got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it -- Harley had to put it out with her hat. Siobhan had the decency to look sorry, but she didn’t say so.

Rory, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" she shouted, waving her long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Harley heard Heracles snap. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Rory snarled.

Heracles rolled up the sleeves of his robe, flicked his wand, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Mister Granger's done it!"

Rory was in a very bad mood by the end of the class. "It's no wonder no one can stand him," she said to Harley as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "he's a nightmare, honestly. "

Someone knocked into Harley as they hurried past erm. It was Heracles. Harley caught a glimpse of his face -- and was startled to see that he was in tears.

"I think he heard you."

"So?" said Rory, but she looked a bit uncomfortable. "He must've noticed he's got no friends."

Heracles didn't turn up for the next class and wasn't seen all afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harley and Rory overheard Parvan Patil telling his friend Landon that Heracles was crying in the boys bathroom and wanted to be left alone. Rory looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Heracles out of their minds.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Harley was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, her hijab askew and terror on her face. Everyone stared as she reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll -- in the dungeons -- thought you ought to know."

She then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," she rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Peggy was in her element.

"Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

"How could a troll get in?" Harley asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Don't ask me, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Rory. "Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke."

They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harley suddenly grabbed Rory's arm.

"I've just thought -- Heracles."

"What about him?"

"He doesn't know about the troll."

Rory bit her lip.

"Oh, all right," she snapped. "But Peggy'd better not see us."

Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the boys’ bathroom. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

"Peggy!" hissed Rory, pulling Harley behind a large stone griffin.

Peering around it, however, they saw not Peggy but Snape. She crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

"What's she doing?" Harley whispered. "Why isn't she down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?"

"Search me."

Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's fading footsteps.

"She's heading for the third floor," Harley said, but Rory held up her hand.

"Can you smell something?"

Harley sniffed and a foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.

And then they heard it -- a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Rory pointed -- at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving toward them. They shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, large feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

"The keys in the lock," Harley muttered. "We could lock it in."

"Good idea," said Rory nervously.

They edged toward the open door, mouths dry, praying the troll wasn't about to come out of it. With one great leap, Harley managed to grab the key, slam the door, and lock it.

”Yes!"

Flushed with their victory, they started to run back up the passage, but as they reached the corner they heard something that made their hearts stop -- a loud, petrified scream -- and it was coming from the chamber they'd just chained up.

"Oh, no," said Rory, pale as the Bloody Baron.

"It's the boys’ bathroom!" Harley gasped.

"Heracles!" they said together.

It was the last thing they wanted to do, but what choice did they have? Wheeling around, they sprinted back to the door and turned the key, fumbling in their panic. Harley pulled the door open and they ran inside.

Heracles Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if he was about to faint. The troll was advancing on him, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went.

"Confuse it!" Harley said desperately to Rryn, and, seizing a tap, she threw it as hard as she could against the wall.

The troll stopped a few feet from Heracles. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Harley. It hesitated, then made for her instead, lifting its club as it went.

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Rory from the other side of the chamber, and she threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Rory instead, giving Halery time to run around it.

"Come on, run, run!" Harley yelled at Heracles, trying to pull him toward the door, but he couldn't move, he was still flat against the wall, his mouth open with terror.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Rory, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

Harley then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: She took a great running jump and managed to fasten her arms around the troll's neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Harley hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harley's wand had still been in her hand when she'd jumped -- it had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harley clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip her off or catch her a terrible blow with the club.

Heracles had sunk to the floor in fright; Rory pulled out hiry own wand -- not knowing what she was going to do she heard herself cry the first spell that came into her head: "Wingardium Leosa!"

Thclub flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over -- and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harley got to her feet. She was shaking and out of breath. Rory was standing there with her wand still raised, staring at what she had done.

It was Heracles who spoke first.

"Is it -- dead?"

“I don't think so," said Harley, “I think it's just been knocked out."

She bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

"Urgh -- troll boogers."

She wiped it on the troll's trousers.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Rory and Harley. Halery had never seen him look so angry. His lips were white. Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from Harley's mind.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in his voice. Harley looked at Rory, who was still standing witherwand in the air. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Snape gave Harley a swift, piercing look. Harley looked at the floor. She wished Rory would put her wand down.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

"Please, Professor McGonagall -- they were looking for me."

"Mister Granger!"

Heracles had managed to get to his feet at last.

“I went looking for the troll because I -- I thought I could deal with it on my own -- you know, because I've read all about them."

Rory finally dropped her wand. Heracles Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher? "If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harley stuck her wand up its nose and Rory knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Harley and Rory tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

"Well -- in that case..." said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, "Mister Granger, you foolish boy, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Heracles hung his head. Harley was speechless. Heracles was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here he was, pretending he had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.

"Mister Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

Heracles left.

Professor McGonagall turned to Harley and Rory.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor ten points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

"We should have gotten more than twenty points," Rory grumbled.

"Fifteen, you mean, once he's taken off Heracles’."

"Good of him to get us out of trouble like that," Rory admitted. "Mind you, we did save him."

“He might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with him," Harley reminded her.

They had reached the portrait of the Singing Man.

"Pig snout," they said and entered.

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Heracles, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said "Thanks," and hurried off to get plates.

But from that moment on, Heracles Granger became their friend. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.


	11. Quidditch

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harley would be playing in her first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the house championship.

Hardly anyone had seen Harley play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harley should be kept, well, secret. But the news that she was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Harley didn't know which was worse -- people telling her she'd be brilliant or people telling her they'd be running around underneath her holding a mattress.

It was really lucky that Harley now had Heracles as a friend. She didn't know how she'd have gotten through all her homework without him, what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. He had also lent her Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a very interesting read.

Harley learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Heracles had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harley and Rory had saved him from the mountain troll, and he was much nicer for it. The day before Harley's first Quidditch match the three of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and he had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Harley noticed at once that Snape was limping. Harley, Rory, and Heracles moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape's eye. She limped over. She hadn't seen the fire, but she seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

"What's that you've got there, Evans?"

It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harley showed it to her.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Snape. "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

"She's just made that rule up," Harley muttered angrily as Snape limped away. "Wonder what's wrong with her leg?"

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting her," said Rory bitterly.

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harley, Rory, and Heracles sat together next to a window. Heracles was going over Harley and Rory's Charms homework for them. He would never let them copy, but by asking him to read it through, they got the right answers anyway.

Harley felt restless. She wanted Quidditch Through the Ages back, to take her mind off his nerves about tomorrow. Why should she be afraid of Snape? Getting up, she told Rory and Heracles she was going to ask Snape if she could have it back.

"Better you than me," they said together, but Harley had an idea that Snape wouldn't refuse if there were other teachers listening.

She made her way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. Nothing.

Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? It was worth a try. She pushed the door ajar and peered inside -- and a horrible scene met her eyes.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding her robes above her knees. One of her legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.

"Blasted thing," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Harley tried to shut the door quietly, but --

"EVANS!"

Snape's face was twisted with fury as she dropped her robes quickly to hide her leg. Harley gulped.

"I just wondered if I could have my book back."

"GET OUT! OUT!"

Harley left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. She sprinted back upstairs.

"Did you get it?" Rory asked as Harley joined them. "What's the matter?"

In a low whisper, Harley told them what she'd seen.

"You know what this means?" she finished breathlessly. "She tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where she was going when we saw her -- she's after whatever it's guarding! And I’d bet my broomstick she let that troll in, to make a diversion!"

Heracles's eyes were wide.

"No -- she wouldn't,” he said. "I know she's not very nice, but she wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Heracles, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Rory. "I'm with Harley. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's she after? What's that dog guarding?"

Harley went to bed with her head buzzing with the same question. Nevaeh was snoring loudly, but Harley couldn't sleep. She tried to empty her mind -- she needed to sleep, she had to, she had her first Quidditch match in a few hours -- but the expression on Snape's face when Harley had seen her leg wasn't easy to forget.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheer ful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

"You've got to eat some breakfast."

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Heracles.

"I'm not hungry."

Harley felt terrible. In an hour's time she'd be walking onto the field.

"Harley, you need your strength," said Siobhan Finnigan. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Thanks, Siobhan," said Harley, watching Siobhan pile ketchup on her sausages.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Rory and Heracles joined Nevaeh, Siobhan, and Della the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harley, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Evans for the Gold, and Della, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion and a golden snitch underneath. Then Heracles had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harley and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in their signature emerald green).

Wood cleared her throat for silence.

"Okay, Lions," she said. "This is it."

"The big one," said Faith Weasley.

"The one we've all been waiting for," said Grace.

"We know Olympia’s speech by heart," Faith told Harley, "we were on the team last year."

"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

She glared at them all as if to say, "Or else."

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Harley followed Faith and Grae out of the locker room and, hoping her knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

Sir Hooch was refereeing. He stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, his broom in his hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," he said, once they were all gathered around him. Harley noticed that he seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Martha Flint, a sixth year. Harley thought Flint looked as if she had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Evans for the Gold over the crowd. Her heart skipped. She felt braver.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Harley clambered onto her Nimbus Two Thousand.

Sir Hooch gave a loud blast on his silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off. "And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Anthony Johnson of Gryffindor -- what an excellent Chaser that boy is, and rather attractive, too --"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lynn Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And he's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alexander Spinnet, a good find of Olympia Wood's, last year only a reserve -- back to Johnson and -- no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Martha Flint gains the Quaffle and off she goes -- Flint flying like an eagle up there -- she's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle -- that's Chaser Kato Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and -- OUCH -- that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger -- Quaffle taken by the Slytherins -- that's Adelaide Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but she's blocked by a second Bludger -- sent her way by Faith or Grace Weasley, can't tell which -- nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off he goes -- he's really flying -- dodges a speeding Bludger -- the goal posts are ahead -- come on, now, Anthony -- Keeper Bletchley dives -- misses -- GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Rory and Heracles squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them .

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around her neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Ne," said Rory. "Harley hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising her binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harley.

Way up above them, Harley was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of her and Wood's game plan.

"Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch," Wood had said. "We don't want you attacked before you have to be."

When Anthony had scored, Harley had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off her feelings. Now she was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once she caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harley dodged it and Faith Weasley came chasing after it.

"All right there, Harley?" she had time to yell, as she beat the Bludger furiously toward Martha Flint.

"Slytherin in possession," Lynn Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the -- wait a moment -- was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adelaide Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over her shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed her left ear.

Harley saw it. In a great rush of excitement she dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Taylor Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch -all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Harley was faster than Higgs -- she could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead - - she put on an extra spurt of speed --

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below -- Martha Flint had blocked Harley on purpose, and Harley's broom spun off course, Harley holding on for dear life.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Sir Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Della Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!"

"What are you talking about, Della?" said Rory.

"Red card!" said Della furiously. "In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't soccer, Della," Rory reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Della's side.

"They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harley outta the air."

Lynn Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So -- after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-”

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul-”

“Jordan, I'm warning you --"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

It was as Harley dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past her head, that it happened. Her broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, she thought she was going to fall. She gripped the broom tightly with both her hands and knees. She'd never felt anything like that.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harley tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal- posts -- she had half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out -- and then she realized that her broom was completely out of her control. She couldn't turn it. She couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated her.

Lynn was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession -- Flint with the Quaffle -- passes Spinnet -- passes Bell -- hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke her nose -- only joking, Professor -- Slytherins score -- Ah, no...

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harley's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying her slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

"Dunno what Harley thinks she's doing," Hagrid mumbled. She stared through her binoculars. "If I didn' know better, I'd say she'd lost control of her broom... but she can't have...."

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harley all over the stands. Her broom had started to roll over and over, with her only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harley's broom had given a wild jerk and Harley swung off it. She was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked her?" Siobhan whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, her voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic -- no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

At these words, Heracles seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harley, he started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Rory, gray-faced.

"I knew it," Heracles gasped, "Snape -- look."

Rory grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. She had her eyes fixed on Harley and was muttering nonstop under her breath.

"She's doing something -- jinxing the broom," said Heracles.

"What should we do?"

"Leave it to me."

Before Rory could say another word, Heracles had disappeared. Rory turned the binoculars back on Harley. Her broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for her to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harley safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good -- every time they got near her, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath her, obviously hoping to catch her if she fell. Martha Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Come on, Heracles," Rory muttered desperately.

Heracles had fought his way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind her; he didn't even stop to say sorry as he knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, he crouched down, pulled out his wand, and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from his wand onto the hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that she was on fire. A sudden yelp told him he had done his job. Scooping the fire off her into a little jar in his pocket, he scrambled back along the row -- Snape would never know what had happened.

It was enough. Up in the air, Harley was suddenly able to clamber back on to her broom.

"Nevaeh, you can look!" Rory said. Nevaeh had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Harley was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw her clap her hand to her mouth as though she was about to be sick -- she hit the field on all fours -- coughed -- and something gold fell into her hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" she shouted, waving it above her head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

"She didn't catch it, she nearly swallowed it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference -- Harley hadn't broken any rules and Lynn Jordan was still happily shouting the results -- Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harley heard none of this, though. She was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Rory and Heracles.

"It was Snape," Rory was explaining, "Heracles and I saw him. She was cursing your broomstick, muttering, she wouldn't take her eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to her in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

Harley, Rory, and Heracles looked at one another, wondering what to tell her. Harley decided on the truth.

"I found out something about her," she told Hagrid. "She tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit her. We think she was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" she said.

"Fluffy?"

"Yeah -- she's mine -- bought her off a Greek lassie I met in the pub las' year -- I lent her to Dumbledore to guard the-”

"Yes?" said Harley eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to steal it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, she'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did she just try and kill Harley?" cried Heracles.

The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed his mind about Snape.

“I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw her!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Harley's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh -- yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolette Flamel --"

"Aha!" said Harley, "so there's someone called Nicolette Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.


	12. The Mirror of Erised

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of her hijab. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

"I do feel so sorry," said Danika Malfoy, one Potions class, "for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home."

She was looking over at Harley as she spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harley, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them. Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, she had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harley as Seeker next. Then she'd realized that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Harley had managed to stay on her bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Harley about having no proper family.

It was true that Harley wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harley had signed up at once. She didn't feel sorry for herself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas she'd ever had. Rory and her sisters were staying, too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit Cham. 

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Rory asked, sticking her head through the branches.

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Rory."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoys cold drawl from behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose -- that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."

Rory dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.

"WEASLEY!"

Rory let go of the front of Malfoy's robes.

"She was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking her huge face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' her family."

"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

"I'll get her," said Rory, grinding her teeth at Malfoy's back, "one of these days, I'll get her --"

"I hate them both," said Harey, "Malfoy and Snape."

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."

So the three of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree -- put it in the far corner, would you?"

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Just one," said Heracles. "And that reminds me -Harley, Rort, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

"Oh yeah, you're right," said Rory, tearing her eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of herr wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, we're not working," Harley told her brightly. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolette Flamel we've been trying to find out who she is."

"You what?" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here -- I've told yeh -- drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."

"We just want to know who Nicolette Flamel is, that's all," said Heracles.

"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harley added. "We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find her anywhere -- just give us a hint -- I know I've read her name somewhere."

"I'm sayin' nothin, said Hagrid flatly.

"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," said Rory, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get herself into a book. She wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; she was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Heracles took out a list of subjects and titles he had decided to search while Rory strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Harley wandered over to the Restricted Section. She had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and she knew she'd never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, girl?"

"Nothing," said Harley.

Sir Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at her.

"You'd better get out, then. Go on -- out!"

Wishing she'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Harley left the library. She, Rory, and Heracles had already agreed they'd better not ask Sir Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure he'd be able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Snape hearing what they were up to.

Harley waited outside in the corridor to see if the other two had found anything, but she wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for two weeks, after all, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Sir Pince breathing down their necks.

Five minutes later, Rory and Heracles joined her, shaking their heads. They went off to lunch.

"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" said Heracles. "And send me an owl if you find anything."

"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," said Rory. "It'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, as they're both dentists," said Heracles.

Once the holidays had started, Rory and Harley were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork -- bread, English muffins, marshmallows -- and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.

Rory also started teaching Harley wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Rory's set was very old and battered. Like everything else she owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family -- in this case, her grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all. Rory knew them so well she never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.

Harley played with chessmen Siobhan Finnigan had left for her over break, and they didn't trust her at all. She wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at her, which was confusing. "Don't send me there, can't you see her knight? Send them, we can afford to lose them." On Christmas Eve, Harley went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When she woke early in the morning, however, the first thing she saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of her bed.

"Merry Christmas," said Rory sleepily as Harley scrambled out of bed and pulled on her bathrobe.

"You, too," said Harley. "Will you look at this? I've got some presents!"

"What did you expect, turnips?" said Rory, turning to her own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harley's.

Harley picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was  _ To Harley, from Hagrid _ . Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it herself. Harley blew it -- it sounded a bit like an owl.

A second, very small parcel contained a note.

_ We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Peter and Aunt Veronica. _ Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

"That's friendly," said Harley.

Rory was fascinated by the fifty pence.

"Weird!" she said, “What a shape! This is money?"

"You can keep it," said Harley, laughing at how pleased Rory was. "Hagrid and my aunt and uncle -- so who sent these?"

"I think I know who that one's from," said Rory, turning a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My dad. I told him you didn't expect any presents and -- oh, no," she groaned, "he's made you a Weasley sweater."

Harley had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.

"Every year he makes us a sweater," said Rory, unwrapping her own, "and mine's always maroon."

"That's really nice of him," said Harley, trying the fudge, which was very tasty.

Her next present also contained candy -- a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Heracles.

This only left one parcel. Harley picked it up and felt it. It was very light. She unwrapped it.

Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Rory gasped.

"I've heard of those," she said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavor Beans she'd gotten from Heracles. "If that's what I think it is -- they're really rare, and really valuable."

"What is it?"

Harley picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

"It's an invisibility cloak," said Rory, a look of awe on his face. "I'm sure it is -- try it on."

Harley threw the cloak around her shoulders and Rory gave a yell.

"It is! Look down!"

Harley looked down at her feet, but they were gone. She dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, her reflection looked back at her, just her head suspended in midair, her body completely invisible. She pulled the cloak over her head and her reflection vanished completely.

"There's a note!" said Rory suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"

Harley pulled off the cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing she had never seen before were the following words: _ Your mother left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you. _

There was no signature. Harley stared at the note. Rory was admiring the cloak.

"I'd give anything for one of these," she said. "Anything. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Harley. She felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to his mother?

Before she could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was flung open and Faith and Grace Weasley bounded in. Harley stuffed the cloak quickly out of sight. She didn't feel like sharing it with anyone else yet.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, look -- Harley's got a Weasley sweater, too!"

Faith and Grace were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G.

"Harely's is better than ours, though," said Faith, holding up Harley's sweater. "He obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Rory?" Grace demanded. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."

"I hate maroon," Rory moaned halfheartedly as she pulled it over her head.

"You haven't got a letter on yours," Grace observed. "I suppose he thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid -- we know we're called Graith and Face."

"What's all this noise?”

Peggy Weasley stuck her head through the door, looking disapproving. She had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping her presents as she, too, carried a lumpy sweater over her arm, which Faith seized.

"P for prefect! Get it on, Peggy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Harley got one."

"I -- don't -- want” said Peggy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over her head, knocking her glasses askew.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said Grace. "Christmas is a time for family."

They frog-marched Peggy from the room, his arms pinned to her side by her sweater.

Harley had never in all her life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce -- and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Evans’ usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats inside. Harley pulled a wizard cracker with Faith and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped her pointed witch’s hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read her.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Peggy nearly broke her teeth on a silver sickle embedded in her slice. Harley watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as she called for more wine, finally kissing Professor Quirell on the cheek, who, to Harley's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

When Harley finally left the table, she was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of nonexplodable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and her own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Harley had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mr. Norris's Christmas dinner.

Harley and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harley broke in her new chess set by losing spectacularly to Rory. She suspected she wouldn't have lost so badly if Peggy hadn't tried to help her so much.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Peggy chase Faith and Grace all over Gryffindor tower because they'd stolen her prefect badge.

It had been Harley's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until she climbed into bed was she free to think about it: the invisibility cloak and whoever had sent it.

Rory, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother her, fell asleep almost as soon as she'd drawn the curtains of his four-poster. Harley leaned over the side of her own bed and pulled the cloak out from under it.

Her mother’s... this had been her mother's. She let the material flow over her hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note had said.

She had to try it, now. She slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak around herself. Looking down at her legs, she saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling.

_ Use it well. _

Suddenly, Harley felt wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to her in this cloak. Excitement flooded through her as she stood there in the dark and silence. She could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

Rory grunted in her sleep. Should Harley wake her? Something held her back -- her mother's cloak -- she felt that this time -- the first time -- she wanted to use it alone.

She crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room, and climbed through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" squawked the Singing Man. Harley said nothing. She walked quickly down the corridor.

Where should she go? She stopped, her heart racing, and thought. And then it came to her. The Restricted Section in the library. She'd be able to read as long as she liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was. She set off, drawing the invisibility cloak tight around her as she walked.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harley lit a lamp to see her way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in midair, and even though Harley could feel her arm supporting it, the sight gave her the creeps.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library, she held up her lamp to read the titles.

They didn't tell her much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harley couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harley's neck prickled. Maybe she was imagining it, maybe not, but she thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.

She had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, she looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting looking book. A large black and silver volume caught her eye. She pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on her knee, let it fall open.

A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence -- the book was screaming! Harley snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. She stumbled backward and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, she heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside -- stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, she ran for it. She passed Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through her, and Harley slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in her ears.

She came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. She had been so busy getting away from the library, she hadn't paid attention to where she was going. Perhaps because it was dark, she didn't recognize where she was at all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, she knew, but she must be five floors above there.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library Restricted Section."

Harley felt the blood drain out of her face. Wherever she was, Filch must know a shortcut, because her soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to her horror, it was Snape who replied, "The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Harley stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see her, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into her -- the cloak didn't stop her from being solid.

She backed away as quietly as she could. A door stood ajar to her left. It was her only hope. She squeezed through it, holding her breath, trying not to move it, and to her relief she managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harley leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before she noticed anything about the room she had hidden in.

It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket -- but propped against the wall facing her was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. Her panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harley moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at herself but see no reflection again. She stepped in front of it.

She had to clap her hands to her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She whirled around. Her heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed -- for she had seen not only herself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind hr.

But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, she turned slowly back to the mirror.

There she was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind her, were at least ten others. Harley looked over her shoulder -- but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was she in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

She looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind her reflection was smiling at her and waving. She reached out a hand and felt the air behind her. If she was really there, she'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but she felt only air -- she and the others existed only in the mirror.

The tall, thin, red-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. She wore glasses, and her hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harley's did. The man, he looked familiar. He had dark red hair and his eyes -- his eyes are just like mine, Harley thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green -- exactly the same shape, but then she noticed that he was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. 

Harley was so close to the mirror now that her nose was nearly touching that of her reflection.

"Mum?" she whispered. "Dad?"

They just looked at her, smiling. And slowly, Harley looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like hers, other noses like hers, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harley's knobbly knees -- Harley was looking at her family, for the first time in her life.

The Evans smiled and waved at Harley and she stared hungrily back at them, her hands pressed flat against the glass as though she was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. She had a powerful kind of ache inside her, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long she stood there, she didn't know. The reflections did not fade and she looked and looked until a distant noise brought her back to her senses. She couldn't stay here, she had to find her way back to bed. She tore her eyes away from her father’s face, whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.

"You could have woken me up," said Rory, crossly.

"You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror.”

"I'd like to see your mum and dad," Rory said eagerly.

"And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other sisters and everyone."

"You can see them any old time," said Rory. "Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"

Harley couldn't eat. She had seen her parents and would be seeing them again tonight. She had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important anymore. Who cared what the three headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?

"Are you all right?" said Rory. "You look odd."

What Harley feared most was that she might not be able to find the mirror room again. With Rory covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk much more slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harley's route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.

"I'm freezing," said Rory. "Let's forget it and go back."

"No!" Harley hissed. I know it's here somewhere."

They passed the ghost of a tall wizard gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. just as Rory started moaning that her feet were dead with cold, Harley spotted the suit of armor.

"It's here -- just here -- yes!"

They pushed the door open. Harley dropped the cloak from around her shoulders and ran to the mirror.

There they were. Her mother and father beamed at the sight of her.

"See?" Harley whispered.

"I can't see anything."

"Look! Look at them all... there are loads of them...."

"I can only see you."

"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."

Harley stepped aside, but with Rory in front of the mirror, she couldn't see her family anymore, just Rory in her paisley nightgown.

Rory, though, was staring transfixed at her image.

"Look at me!" she said.

"Can you see all your family standing around you?"

"No -- I'm alone -- but I'm different -- I look older -- and I'm head girl!"

"What?"

"I am -- I'm wearing the badge like Bianca used to -- and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup -- I'm Quidditch captain, too!”

Rory tore her eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at Harley.

"Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it? All my family are dead -- let me have another look --"

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."

"You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents."

"Don't push me --"

A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.

"Quick!"

Rory threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mr. Norris came round the door. Rory and Harley stood quite still, both thinking the same thing -- did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, he turned and left.

"This isn't safe -- he might have gone for Filch, I bet he heard us. Come on."

And Rory pulled Harley out of the room.

The snow still hadn't melted the next morning.

"Want to play chess, Harley?" said Rory.

"No."

"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?"

"No... you go..."

"I know what you're thinking about, Harley, that mirror. Don't go back tonight."

"Why not?"

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it -- and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mr. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"

"You sound like Heracles."

"I'm serious, Harley, don't go."

But Harley only had one thought in her head, which was to get back in front of the mirror, and Rory wasn't going to stop him.

That third night she found her way more quickly than before. She was walking so fast she knew she was making more noise than was wise, but she didn't meet anyone.

And there were her mother and father smiling at her again, and one of her grandfathers nodding happily. Harley sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop her from staying here all night with her family. Nothing at all.

Except --

"So -- back again, Harley?"

Harley felt as though her insides had turned to ice. She looked behind her. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Allana Dumbledore. Harley must have walked straight past her, so desperate to get to the mirror she hadn't noticed her.

" -- I didn't see you, Madam."

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Harley was relieved to see that she was smiling.

"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harley, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, Madam."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

"It -- well -- it shows me my family --"

"And it showed your friend Rory herself as head girl."

"How did you know --?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harley shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harley thought. Then she said slowly, "It shows us what we want... whatever we want..."

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Aurora Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by her sisters, sees herself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harley, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Harley stood up.

"Madam -- Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Harley stared.

"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

It was only when she was back in bed that it struck Harley that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, she thought, as she shoved Scabbers off her pillow, it had been quite a personal question, and the witch was odd enough that it might as well be true.


	13. Nicolette Flamel

Dumbledore had convinced Harley not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the invisibility cloak stayed folded at the bottom of her trunk. Harley wished he could forget what she'd seen in the mirror as easily, but she couldn't. She started having nightmares. Over and over again she dreamed about her parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice cackled with laughter.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said Rory, when Harley told her about these dreams.

Heracles, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. He was torn between horror at the idea of Harley being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had caught you!"), and disappointment that she hadn't at least found out who Nicolette Flamel was.

They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Harley was still sure she'd read the name somewhere. Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Harley had even less time than the other two, because Quidditch practice had started again.

Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen her spirits. The Weasleys complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, but Harley was on Wood's side. If they won their next match, against Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the house championship for the first time in seven years. Quite apart from wanting to win, Harley found that she had fewer nightmares when she was tired out after training.

Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave the team a bit of bad news. She'd just gotten very angry with the Weasleys, who kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms.

"Will you stop messing around!" she yelled. "That's exactly the sort of thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and she'll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"

Grace Weasley really did fall off her broom at these words.

"Snape's refereeing?" she spluttered through a mouthful of mud. "When's she ever refereed a Quidditch match? She's not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin."

The rest of the team landed next to Grace to complain, too.

"It's not my fault," said Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."

Which was all very well, thought Harley, but she had another reason for not wanting Snape near her while she was playing Quidditch....

The rest of the team hung back to talk to one another as usual at the end of practice, but Harley headed straight back to the Gryffindor common room, where she found Rory and Heracles playing chess. Chess was the only thing Heracles ever lost at, something Harley and Rory thought was very good for his ego.

"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Rory, who got very focused during chess matches, when Harley sat down next to her, "I need to concen --" She caught sight of Harley's face. "What's the matter with you? You look terrible."

Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harley told the other two about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

"Don't play," said Heracles at once.

"Say you're ill," said Rory.

"Pretend to break your leg," Heracles suggested.

"Really break your leg," said Rory.

"I can't," said Harley. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."

At that moment Nevaeh toppled into the common room. How she had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because her legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. She must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor tower.

Everyone fell over laughing except Harley, who was familiar with the embarrassment from being laughed at, and Heracles, who leapt up and performed the countercurse. Nevaeh's legs sprang apart and she got to her feet, trembling. "What happened?" Heracles asked her, leading her over to sit with Harley and Rory.

"Malfoy," said Nevaeh shakily. "I met her outside the library. She said she'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Heracles urged Nevaeh. "Report her!"

Nevaeh shook her head.

"I don't want more trouble," she mumbled.

"You've got to stand up to her, Nevaeh!" said Rory. "She's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of her and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Nevaeh choked out.

Harley felt in the pocket of her robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Heracles had given her for Christmas. She gave it to Nevaeh, who looked as though she might cry.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harley said. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

Nevaeh's lips twitched in a weak smile as she unwrapped the frog.

"Thanks, Harley... I think I'll go to bed.... D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?"

As Nevaeh walked away, Harley looked at the Famous Wizard card.

"Dumbledore again," she said, "Y’know, she was the first one I ever-"

She gasped. She stared at the back of the card. Then she looked up at Rory and Heracles.

"I've found her!" she whispered. "I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here -- listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for her defeat of the dark witch Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and her work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolette Flamel'!"

Heracles jumped to his feet. He hadn't looked so excited since he’d gotten back to the castle from Christmas.

"Stay there!" he said, and he sprinted up the stairs to the boys’ dormitories. Harley and Rory barely had time to exchange mystified looks before he was dashing back, an enormous old book in his arms.

"I never thought to look in here!" he whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

"Light?" said Rory, but Heracles told her to be quiet until he'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to himself.

At last he found what she was looking for.

"I knew it! I knew it!"

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Rory grumpily. Heracles ignored her.

"Nicolette Flamel," he whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Philosopher’s Stone!"

This didn't have quite the effect he'd expected.

"The what?" said Harley and Ronry

"Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look -- read that, there."

He pushed the book toward them, and Harley and Rory read:  _ The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Ms. Nicolette Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Ms. Flamel, who celebrated her six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with her wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight). _

"See?" said Heracles, when Harley and Rory had finished. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Philosopher's Stone! I bet she asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for her, because they're friends and she knew someone was after it, that's why she wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Harley. "No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it."

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," said Rory. "She's not exactly recent if she's six hundred and sixty-five, is she?"

The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harley and Rory were still discussing what they'd do with a Philosopher's Stone if they had one. It wasn't until Rory said she'd buy her own Quidditch team that Harley remembered about Snape and the coming match.

"I'm going to play," she told Rory and Heracles. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them... it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," said Heracles.

As the match drew nearer, however, Harley became more and more nervous, despite what she told Rory and Hermione. The rest of the team wasn't too calm, either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the house championship was wonderful, no one had done it for seven years, but would they be allowed to, with such a biased referee?

Harley didn't know whether she was imagining it or not, but she seemed to keep running into Snape wherever she went. At times, she even wondered whether Snape was following her, trying to catch her on his own. Potions lessons were turning into a sort of weekly torture, Snape was so horrible to Harley. Could Snape possibly know they'd found out about the Philosopher's Stone? Harley didn't see how she could -- yet she sometimes had the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.

Harley knew, when they wished him good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, that Rory and Heracles were wondering whether they'd ever see her alive again. This wasn't what you'd call comforting. Harley hardly heard a word of Wood's regular pep talk as she pulled back her hair and picked up her Nimbus Two Thousand.

Rory and Heracles, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to Nevaeh, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had both brought their wands to the match. Little did Harley know that Rory and Heracles had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. They'd gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Nevaeh, and were ready to use it on Snape if she showed any sign of wanting to hurt Harley.

"Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis," Heracles muttered as Rory slipped her wand up her sleeve.

"I know," Rory snapped. "Don't nag."

Back in the locker room, Wood had taken Harley aside.

"Don't want to pressure you, Evans, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much."

"The whole school's out there!" said Faith Weasley, peering out of the door. Maybe. Harley still had trouble telling the difference between the two witches. "Even -- blimey -- Dumbledore's come to watch!"

Harley's heart did a somersault.

"Dumbledore?" she said, dashing to the door to make sure. Faith was right. There was no mistaking that silver hair.

Harley could have laughed out loud with relief she was safe. There was simply no way that Snape would dare to try to hurt her if Dumbledore was watching.

Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched onto the field, something that Rory noticed, too.

"I've never seen Snape look so mean," she told Heracles. "Look! They're off! Ouch!"

Someone had poked Rory in the back of the head. It was Malfoy.

"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."

Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.

"Wonder how long Evans’ going to stay on her broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"

Rory didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because Grace Weasley had hit a Bludger at her. Heracles who had all his fingers crossed in his lap, was squinting fixedly at Harley, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.

"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Evans, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money -- you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

Nevaeh went bright red but turned in her seat to face Malfoy.

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," she told her, voice only waivering slightly.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Rory, still not daring to take her eyes from the game, said, "You tell her, Nev."

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

Rory's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about Harley.

"I'm warning you, Malfoy -- one more word--”

"Ronry" said Heracles suddenly, "Harley --"

"What? Where?"

Harley had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Heracles stood up, shaking her fists up in down to alleviate her stress, as Harley streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

"You're in luck, Weasley, Evans’ obviously spotted some money on the ground!" said Malfoy.

Rory snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Rory was on top of her, wrestling him to the ground. Nevaeh clambered over the back of her seat to help.

"Come on, Harley!" Heracles screamed, leaping onto his seat to watch as Harley sped straight at Snape -- he didn't even notice Malfoy and Rory rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Nevaeh, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Up in the air, Snape turned on her broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past her, missing her by inches -- the next second, Harley had pulled out of the dive, her arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in her hand.

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

"Rory! Rory! Where are you? The game's over! Harley's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!" shrieked Hercles, dancing up and down on his seat and hugging Parvan Patil in the row in front.

Harley jumped off her broom, a foot from the ground. She couldn't believe it. She'd done it -- the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, she saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped -- then Harley felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.

"Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harley could hear. "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror... been keeping busy... excellent..."

Snape spat bitterly on the ground.

Harley left the locker room alone some time later, to take her Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. She couldn't ever remember feeling happier. She'd really done something to be proud of now -- no one could say she was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. SHe walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in her head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift her onto their shoulders; Rory and Heracles in the distance, jumping up and down, Rory cheering through a heavy nosebleed.

Harley had reached the shed. She leaned against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Gryffindor in the lead. She'd done it, she'd shown Snape....

_ Speak of the devil and he shall appear  _ hissed a voice in her head. It sounded like the pastor from the church Uncle Peter had made her go to on dreary Sundays in Surrey.

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest. Harley's victory faded from her mind as she watched. She recognized the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner -- what was going on?

Harley jumped back on her Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle she saw Snape enter the forest at an embarrassingly slow run. She followed.

The trees were so thick she couldn't see where Snape had gone. She flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until she heard voices. She glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.

She climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to her broomstick, trying to see through the leaves. Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but she wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harley couldn't make out the look on her face, but she was stuttering worse than ever. Harley strained to catch what they were saying.

"... d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Seanna..."

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, her voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all."

Harley leaned forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted her.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Seanna, I --"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step toward her.

"I-I don't know what you-”

"You know perfectly well what I mean, ."

An owl hooted loudly, and Harley nearly fell out of the tree. She steadied herself in time to hear Snape say, "-- your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't --"

"Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."

She threw her cloak over her head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Harley could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though she was petrified.

"Harley, where have you been?" Heracles squeaked.

"We won! You won! We won!" shouted Rory, thumping Harley on the back. "And I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Nevaeh tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! She's still out cold but Sir Pomftey says she'll be all right - talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party, Faith and Grace stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."

"Never mind that now," said Harley breathlessly. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this...."

She made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them, then she told them what she'd seen and heard.

"So we were right, it is the Philosopher's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help her get it. She asked if she knew how to get past Fluffy - and she said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocus’-- I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through --"

"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" said Heracles in alarm.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said Rory.


	14. Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback

Quirrell, however, must have been braver than they'd thought. In the weeks that followed she did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it didn't look as though she'd cracked yet.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Harley, Rory, and Heracles would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in her usual bad temper, which surely meant that the Stone was still safe. Whenever Harley passed Quirrell these days she gave her an encouraging sort of smile, and Rory had started telling people off for laughing at Quirrell's stutter.

Heracles, however, had more on his mind than the Philosopher’s Stone. He had started drawing up study schedules and color coding all his notes. Harley and Rory wouldn't have minded, but he kept nagging them to do the same.

"Heracles, the exams are ages away."

"Two weeks," Heracles snapped. "That's not ages, that's like a second to Nicolette Flamel."

"But we're not six hundred years old," Rory reminded him. "Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it all."

"What am I studying for? Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten into me...."

Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Heracles. They piled so much homework on them that the Easter holidays weren't nearly as much fun as the Christmas ones. It was hard to relax with Heracles next to you reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood or practicing wand movements. Moaning and yawning, Harley and Rory spent most of their free time in the library with him, trying to get through all their extra work. 

"I'll never remember this," Rory burst out one afternoon, throwing down her quill and looking longingly out of the library window. It was the first really fine day they'd had in months. The sky was a clear, forget-me-not blue, and there was a feeling in the air of summer coming.

Harley, who was looking up "Dittany" in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, didn't look up until she heard Rory say, "Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind her back. She looked very out of place in her moleskin overcoat.

"Jus' lookin'," she said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. "An' what're you lot up ter?" she looked suddenly suspicious. "Yer not still lookin' fer Niolette Flamel, are yeh?" 

"Oh, we found out who she is ages ago," said Rory impressively. "And we know what that dog's guarding, it's a Philosopher’s St --"

"Shhhh!" Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. "Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?"

"There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," said Harley, "about what's guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy --"

"SHHHH!" said Hagrid again. "Listen - come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh --"

"See you later, then," said Harley.

Hagrid shuffled off.

"What was she hiding behind her back?" said Heracles thoughtfully.

"Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?"

"I'm going to see what section he was in," said Rory, who'd had enough of working. She came back a minute later with a pile of books in her arms and slammed them down on the table.

"Dragons!" she whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide."

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, she told me so the first time I ever met her, " said Harley.

"But it's against our laws," said Rory. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden - anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Cham's got off wild ones in Romania."

"But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" said Harley.

"Of course there are," said Rory. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."

"So what on earths Hagrid up to?" said Heracles.

When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut an hour later, they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid called "Who is it?" before she let them in, and then shut the door quickly behind them.

It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwiches, which they refused.

"So -- yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

"Yes," said Harley. There was no point beating around the bush. "We were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Philosopher’s Stone apart from Fluffy."

Hagrid frowned at her.

"O'course I cant,” she said. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts - I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."

"Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know, you know everything that goes on round here," said Heracles in a warm, flattering voice. Hagrid's mouth twitched into a shy smile about the size of Harley’s whole head. "We only wondered who had done the guarding, really." Heracles went on. "We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you."

Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words. Harley and Rory beamed at Heracles.

"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that... let's see... she borrowed Fluffy from me... then some o' the teachers did enchantments... Professor Sprout -- Professor Flitwick -- Professor McGonagall --" she ticked them off on her fingers, "Professor Quirrell -- an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."

"Snape?"

"Yeah -- yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, she's not about ter steal it."

Harley knew Rory and Heracles were thinking the same as she was. If Snape had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. She probably knew everything -- except, it seemed, Quirrell's spell and how to get past Fluffy.

"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy. Aren't you, Hagrid?" said Harley anxiously. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?"

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," said Hagrid proudly.

"Well, that's something," Harley muttered to the others. "Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm boiling."

"Can't, Harley, sorry," said Hagrid. Harley noticed her glance at the fire. Harley looked at it, too.

"Hagrid -- what's that?"

But she already knew what it was. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

"Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with her hands, "That's er..."

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Rory, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."

"Won it," said Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think she was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" said Heracles.

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin' , said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under her seat. "Got this outta the library -- Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit -- it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on I em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here -- how ter recognize diff'rent eggs -- what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."

She looked very pleased with herself, but Heracles didn't.

"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," he said.

But Hagrid wasn't listening. She was humming merrily as she stoked the fire.

So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out she was hiding an illegal dragon in her hut. "Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life," Rory sighed, as evening after evening they struggled through all the extra homework they were getting. Heracles had now started making study schedules for Harley and Rory, too. It was driving them nuts.

Then, one breakfast time, Pollux brought Harley another note from Hagrid. She had written only two words:  _ It's hatching. _

Rory wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut. Heracles wouldn't hear of it.

"Heracles, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?"

"We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what she's doing --"

"Shh!" Harley whispered.

Malfoy was only a few feet away and she had stopped dead to listen. How much had she heard? Harley didn't like the look on Malfoy's face at all.

Rory and Heracles argued all the way to Herbology and in the end, Heracles agreed to run down to Hagrid's with the other two during morning break. When the bell sounded from the castle at the end of their lesson, the three of them dropped their trowels at once and hurried through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greeted them, looking flushed and excited.

"It's nearly out." She ushered them inside.

The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it. Something was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it .

They all drew their chairs up to the table and watched with bated breath.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn't exactly pretty; Harley thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured. She reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at her fingers, showing pointed fangs.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!" said Hagrid.

"Hagrid," said Heracles, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

Hagrid was about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his face -- she leapt to her feet and ran to the window.

"What's the matter?"

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains -- it's a kid -- they’re runnin' back up ter the school."

Harley bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance there was no mistaking her pale blonde hair.

Malfoy had seen the dragon.

Something about the smile lurking on Malfoy's face during the next week made Harley, Rory, and Heracles very nervous. They spent most of their free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with her.

"Just let him go," Harley urged. "Set him free."

"I can't," said Hagrid. "He's too little. He'd die."

They looked at the dragon. It had grown three times in length in just a week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing her gamekeeping duties because the dragon was keeping her so busy. There were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mummy?"

"She's lost her marbles," Rory muttered in Harley's ear.

"Hagrid," said Harley loudly, "give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

Hagrid bit her lip.

"I -- I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, I can't."

Harley suddenly turned to Rory. “Cham,” she said.

"You're losing it, too," said Rory. "I'm Rory, remember?"

"No -- Cham -- your brother, Cham. In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to her. Cham can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!"

"Brilliant!" said Rory. "How about it, Hagrid?"

And in the end, Hagrid agreed that they could send an owl to Cham to ask her.

The following week dragged by. Wednesday night found Heracles and Harley sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. The clock on the wall had just chimed midnight when the portrait hole burst open. Rory appeared out of nowhere as she pulled off Harley's invisibility cloak. She had been down at Hagrid's hut, helping her feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by the crate.

"It bit me!" she said, showing them her hand, which was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief. "I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me she told me off for frightening it. And when I left, she was singing it a lullaby."

There was a tap on the dark window.

"It's Pollux!" said Harley, hurrying to let him in. "She'll have Cham's answer!"

The three of them put their heads together to read the note.

_ Dear Rory, _

_ How are you? Thanks for the letter -- I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon. _

_ Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark. _

_ Send me an answer as soon as possible. _

_ Love, _

_ Cham _

They looked at one another.

"We've got the invisibility cloak," said Harley. "It shouldn't be too difficult -- I think the cloaks big enough to cover two of us and Norbert."

It was a mark of how bad the last week had been that the other two agreed with him. Anything to get rid of Norbert -- and Malfoy.

There was a hitch. By the next morning, Rory's bitten hand had swollen to twice its usual size. She didn't know whether it was safe to go to Sir Pomfrey -- would he recognize a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though, she had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green. It looked as if Norbert's fangs were poisonous.

Harley and Heracles rushed up to the hospital wing at the end of the day to find Rory in a terrible state in bed.

"It's not just my hand," she whispered, "although that feels like it's about to fall off. Malfoy told Sir Pomfrey she wanted to borrow one of my books so she could come and have a good laugh at me. She kept threatening to tell him what really bit me -- I've told him it was a dog, but I don't think he believes me -I shouldn't have hit her at the Quidditch match, that's why she's doing this."

Harley and Heracles tried to calm Rory down.

"It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," said Heracles, but this didn't soothe Rory at all. On the contrary, she sat bolt upright and broke into a sweat.

"Midnight on Saturday!" she said in a hoarse voice. "Oh no oh no -- I've just remembered -- Cham's letter was in that book Malfoy took,  now she's going to know we're getting rid of Norbert."

Harley and Heracles didn't get a chance to answer. Sir Pomfrey came over at that moment and made them leave, saying Rory needed sleep.

"It's too late to change the plan now," Harley told Heracles. "We haven't got time to send Cham another owl, and this could be our only chance to get rid of Norbert. We'll have to risk it. And we have got the invisibility cloak, Malfoy doesn't know about that."

They found Ivy, the boarhound, sitting outside with a bandaged tail when they went to tell Hagrid, who opened a window to talk to them.

"I won't let you in," she puffed. "Norbert's at a tricky stage -- nothin' I can't handle."

When they told her about Cham's letter, her eyes filled with tears, although that might have been because Norbert had just bitten her on the leg.

"Aargh! It's all right, he only got my boot -- jus' playin' -- he's only a baby, after all."

The baby banged its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle. Harley and Heracles walked back to the castle feeling Saturday couldn't come quickly enough.

They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came for her to say good-bye to Norbert if they hadn't been so worried about what they had to do. It was a very dark, cloudy night, and they were a bit late arriving at Hagrid's hut because they'd had to wait for Peeves to get out of their way in the entrance hall, where he'd been playing tennis against the wall. Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

"He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey," said Hagrid in a muffled voice. "An' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely."

From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to Harley as though the teddy was having his head torn off.

"Bye-bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed, as Harley and Heracles covered the crate with the invisibility cloak and stepped underneath it themselves. "Mummy will never forget you!"

How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, they never knew. Midnight ticked nearer as they heaved Norbert up the marble staircase in the entrance hall and along the dark corridors. Up another staircase, then another -- even one of Harley's shortcuts didn't make the work much easier.

"Nearly there!" Harley panted as they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower.

Then a sudden movement ahead of them made them almost drop the crate. Forgetting that they were already invisible, they shrank into the shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people grappling with each other ten feet away. A lamp flared.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and matching slippers, had Malfoy by the ear.

"Detention!" he shouted. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you --"

"You don't understand, Professor. Harley Evans’ coming -- she's got a dragon!"

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on -- I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

The steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower seemed the easiest thing in the world after that. Not until they'd stepped out into the cold night air did they throw off the cloak, glad to be able to breathe properly again. Heracles did a sort of jig.

"Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!"

"Don't," Harley advised him.

Chuckling about Malfoy, they waited, Norbert thrashing about in his crate. About ten minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness.

Cham’s friends were a cheery lot. They showed Harley and Heracles the harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them. They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Harley and Heracles shook hands with the others and thanked them very much.

At last, Norbert was going... going... gone.

They slipped back down the spiral staircase, their hearts as light as their hands, now that Norbert was off them. No more dragon -- Malfoy in detention -- what could spoil their happiness?

The answer to that was waiting at the foot of the stairs. As they stepped into the corridor, Filch's face loomed suddenly out of the darkness.

"Well, well, well," she whispered, "we are in trouble."

They'd left the invisibility cloak on top of the tower.


	15. The Forbidden Forest

Things couldn't have been worse.

Filch took them down to Professor McGonagall's study on the first floor, where they sat and waited without saying a word to each other. Heracles was trembling. Excuses, alibis, and wild cover-up stories chased each other around Harley's brain, each more feeble than the last. She couldn't see how they were going to get out of trouble this time. They were cornered. How could they have been so stupid as to forget the cloak? There was no reason on earth that Professor McGonagall would accept for their being out of bed and creeping around the school in the dead of night, let alone being up the tallest astronomy tower, which was out-of-bounds except for classes. Add Norbert and the invisibility cloak, and they might as well be packing their bags already.

Had Harley thought that things couldn't have been worse? She was wrong. When Professor McGonagall appeared, he was leading Nevaeh.

"Harley!" Nevaeh burst out, the moment she saw the other two. "I was trying to find you to warn you, I heard Malfoy saying she was going to catch you, she said you had a drag--"

Harley shook her head violently to shut Nevaeh up, but Professor McGonagall had seen. He looked more likely to breathe fire than Norbert as he towered over the three of them.

"I would never have believed it of any of you. Ms. Filch says you were up in the astronomy tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. Explain yourselves."

It was the first time Heracles had ever failed to answer a teacher's question. He was staring at his slippers, as still as a statue.

"I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on," said Professor McGonagall. "It doesn't take a genius to work it out. You fed Danika Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get her out of bed and into trouble. I've already caught her. I suppose you think it's funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?"

Harley caught Nevaeh’s eye and tried to tell her without words that this wasn't true, because Nevaeh was looking stunned and hurt. Poor, blundering Nevaeh -- Harley knew what it must have cost her to try and find them in the dark, to warn them.

"I'm disgusted," said Professor McGonagall. "Four students out of bed in one night! I've never heard of such a thing before! You, Mister Granger, I thought you had more sense. As for you, Ms. Evans, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this. All three of you will receive detentions -- yes, you too, Ms. Longbottom, nothing gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it's very dangerous -- and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor."

"Fifty?" Harley gasped -- they would lose the lead, the lead she'd won in the last Quidditch match.

"Fifty points each," said Professor McGonagall, breathing heavily through his long, pointed nose.

"Professor -- please--"

"You can't--"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Evans. Now get back to bed, all of you. I've never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students."

A hundred and fifty points lost. That put Gryffindor in last place. In one night, they'd ruined any chance Gryffindor had had for the house cup. Harley felt as though the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. How could they ever make up for this?

Harley didn't sleep all night. She could hear Nevaeh sobbing into her pillow for what seemed like hours. Harley couldn't think of anything to say to comfort her. She knew Nevaeh, like herself, was dreading the dawn. What would happen when the rest of Gryffindor found out what they'd done?

At first, Gryffindors passing the giant hourglasses that recorded the house points the next day thought there'd been a mistake. How could they suddenly have a hundred and fifty points fewer than yesterday? And then the story started to spread: Harley Evans, the famous Harley Evans, their hero of two Quidditch matches, had lost them all those points, her and a couple of other stupid first years.

From being one of the most popular and admired people at the school, Harley was suddenly the most hated. Even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs turned on her, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the house cup. Everywhere Harley went, people pointed and didn't trouble to lower their voices as they insulted her. Slytherins, on the other hand, clapped as she walked past them, whistling and cheering, "Thanks Evans, we owe you one!"

Only Heracles and Rory stood by her.

"They'll all forget this in a few weeks. Faith and Grace have lost loads of points in all the time they've been here, and people still like them."

"They've never lost a hundred and fifty points in one go, though, have they?" said Harley miserably.

"Well -- no," Rory admitted.

It was a bit late to repair the damage, but Harley swore to herself not to meddle in things that weren't her business from now on. She'd had it with sneaking around and spying. She felt so ashamed of himself that she went to Wood and offered to resign from the Quidditch team.

"Resign ?" Wood thundered. "What good'll that do? How are we going to get any points back if we can't win at Quidditch?"

But even Quidditch had lost its fun. The rest of the team wouldn't speak to Harley during practice, and if they had to speak about her, they only called her "the Seeker."

Heracles and Nevaeh were suffering, too. They didn't have as bad a time as Harley, because they weren't as well-known, but nobody would speak to them, either. Heracles had stopped drawing attention to himself in class, keeping his head down and working in silence. Even so, he sat with Rory and Harley at meals, which made Harley feel a bit better. At least he didn’t hate her too.

Harley was almost glad that the exams weren't far away. All the studying she had to do kept his mind off her misery. She, Rory, and Heracles kept to themselves, working late into the night, trying to remember the ingredients in complicated potions, learn charms and spells by heart, memorize the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions...

Then, about a week before the exams were due to start, Harley's new resolution not to interfere in anything that didn't concern her was put to an unexpected test. Walking back from the library on her own one afternoon, she heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. As she drew closer, she heard Quirrell's voice.

"No -- no -- not again, please--"

It sounded as though someone was threatening her. Harley moved closer.

"All right -- all right -- " she heard Quirrell sob.

Next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom straightening her hijab. She was pale and looked as though she was about to cry. She strode out of sight; Harley didn't think Quirrell had even noticed her. She waited until Quirrell's footsteps had disappeared, then peered into the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end. Harley was halfway toward it before she remembered what she'd promised herself about not meddling.

All the same, she'd have gambled twelve Philosopher's Stones that Snape had just left the room, and from what Harley had just heard, Snape would be walking with a new spring in her step -- Quirrell seemed to have given in at last.

Harley went back to the library, where Heracles was testing Rory on Astronomy. Harley told them what she'd heard.

"Snape's done it, then!" said Rory. "If Quirrell's told her how to break her Anti-Dark Force spell--"

"There's still Fluffy, though," said Heracles.

"Maybe Snape's found out how to get past her without asking Hagrid," said Rory, looking up at the thousands of books surrounding them. "I bet there's a book somewhere in here telling you how to get past a giant three-headed dog. So what do we do, Harley?"

The light of adventure was kindling again in Rory's eyes, but Heracles answered before Harley could.

"Go to Dumbledore. That's what we should have done ages ago. If we try anything ourselves we'll be thrown out for sure."

"But we've got no proof!" said Harley. "Quirrell's too scared to back us up. Snape's only got to say she doesn't know how the troll got in at Halloween and that she was nowhere near the third floor -- who do you think they'll believe, him or us? It's not exactly a secret we hate her, Dumbledore'll think we made it up to get her sacked. Filch wouldn't help us if her life depended on it, she's too friendly with Snape, and the more students get thrown out, the better, she'll think. And don't forget, we're not supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy. That'll take a lot of explaining."

Heracles looked convinced, but Rory didn't.

"If we just do a bit of poking around--"

"No," said Harley flatly, "we've done enough poking around."

She pulled a map of Jupiter toward her and started to learn the names of its moons.

The following morning, notes were delivered to Harley, Heracles, and Nevaeh at the breakfast table. They were all the same:

_ Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. _

_ Meet Ms. Filch in the entrance hall. _

_ Professor McGonagall _

Harley had forgotten they still had detentions to do in the furor over the points they'd lost. She half expected Heracles to complain that this was a whole night of studying lost, but he didn't say a word. Like Harley, he felt they deserved what they'd got.

At eleven o'clock that night, they said good-bye to Rory in the common room and went down to the entrance hall with Nevaeh. Filch was already there -- and so was Malfoy. Harley had also forgotten that Malfoy had gotten a detention, too.

"Follow me," said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.

"I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" she said, leering at them. "Oh yes... hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me... It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out... hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed... Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do."

They marched off across the dark grounds. Nevaeh kept sniffing. Harley wondered what their punishment was going to be. It must be something really horrible, or Filch wouldn't be sounding so delighted.

The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Harley could see the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

Harley's heart rose; if they were going to be working with Hagrid it wouldn't be so bad. Her relief must have showed in her face, because Filch said, "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, girl -- it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

At this, Nevaeh let out a little moan, and Malfoy stopped dead in her tracks.

"The forest?" she repeated, and she didn't sound quite as cool as usual. "We can't go in there at night -- there's all sorts of things in there -- werewolves, I heard.”

Heracles clutched the sleeve of Harley's robe and made a choking noise.

"That's your problem, isn't it?" said Filch, her voice cracking with glee. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"

Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, Ivy at her heel. She was carrying her large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over her shoulder.

"Abou' time," she said. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Harley, Heracles?"

"I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," said Filch coldly, “they're here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late, is it?" said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. "Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here."

"I'll be back at dawn," said Filch, "for what's left of them," she added nastily, and she turned and started back toward the castle, her lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Malfoy now turned to Hagrid.

"I'm not going in that forest," she said, and Harley was pleased to hear the note of panic in her voice.

"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," said Hagrid fiercely. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."

"But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my mother and father knew I was doing this, they'd--"

"-- tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled. "Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer parent'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on."

Malfoy didn't move. She looked at Hagrid furiously, but then dropped her gaze.

"Right then," said Hagrid, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment."

She led them to the very edge of the forest. Holding her lamp up high, she pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the forest.

"Look there," said Hagrid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Malfoy, unable to keep the fear out of her voice.

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Ivy," said Hagrid. "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least.”

"I want Ivy," said Malfoy quickly, looking at Ivy’s long teeth.

"All right, but I warn yeh, she's a coward," said Hagrid. "So me, Harley, an' Heracles’ll go one way an' Danika, Nevaeh, an' Ivy'll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now -- that's it -- an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh -- so, be careful -- let's go."

The forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a fork in the earth path, and Harley, Heracles, and Hagrid took the left path while Malfoy, Nevaeh, and Ivy took the right.

They walked in silence, their eyes on the ground. Every now and then a ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves.

Harley saw that Hagrid looked very worried.

"Could a werewolf be killing the unicorns?" Harley asked.

"Not fast enough," said Hagrid. "It's not easy ter catch a unicorn, they're powerful magic creatures. I never knew one ter be hurt before."

They walked past a mossy tree stump. Harley could hear running water; there must be a stream somewhere close by. There were still spots of unicorn blood here and there along the winding path.

"You all right, Heracles?" Hagrid whispered. "Don' worry, it can't've gone far if it's this badly hurt, an' then we'll be able ter -- GET BEHIND THAT TREE!"

Hagrid seized Harley and Heracles and hoisted them off the path behind a towering oak. She pulled out an arrow and fitted it into her crossbow, raising it, ready to fire. The three of them listened. Something was slithering over dead leaves nearby: it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away.

"I knew it," she murmured. "There's summat in here that shouldn' be."

"A werewolf?" Harley suggested.

"That wasn' no werewolf an' it wasn' no unicorn, neither," said Hagrid grimly. "Right, follow me, but careful, now."

They walked more slowly, ears straining for the faintest sound. Suddenly, in a clearing ahead, something definitely moved.

"Who's there?" Hagrid called. "Show yerself -- I'm armed!"

And into the clearing came -- was it a person, or a horse? To the waist, a human, with long red hair and a beard, but below that was a horse's gleaming chestnut body with a long, reddish tail. Harley and Heracles's jaws dropped.

"Oh, it's you, Riley," said Hagrid in relief. "How are yeh?"

She walked forward and shook the centaur's hand.

"Good evening to you, Hagrid," said Riley. They had a deep, sorrowful voice. "Were you going to shoot me?"

"Can't be too careful, Riley," said Hagrid, patting her crossbow. "There's summat bad loose in this forest. This is Harley Evans an' Heracles Granger, by the way. Students up at the school. An' this is Riley, you two. They’re a centaur.

"We'd noticed," said Heracles faintly.

"Good evening," said Riley. "Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?"

"Erm--"

"A bit," said Heracles timidly.

"A bit. Well, that's something." Riley sighed. They flung back their head and stared at the sky. "Mars is bright tonight."

"Yeah," said Hagrid, glancing up, too. "Listen, I'm glad we've run inter yeh, Riley, 'cause there's a unicorn bin hurt -- you seen anythin'?"

Riley didn't answer immediately. They stared unblinkingly upward, then sighed again.

"Always the innocent are the first victims," they said. "So it has been for ages past, so it is now."

"Yeah," said Hagrid, "but have yeh seen anythin' Riley? Anythin' unusual?"

"Mars is bright tonight," Riley repeated, while Hagrid watched them impatiently. "Unusually bright."

"Yeah, but I was meanin' anythin' unusual a bit nearer home,” said Hagrid. "So yeh haven't noticed anythin' strange?"

Yet again, Riley took a while to answer. At last, they said, "The forest hides many secrets."

A movement in the trees behind Riley made Hagrid raise her bow again, but it was only a second centaur, black-haired and -bodied and wilder-looking than Riley.

"Hullo, Bailey," said Hagrid. "All right?"

"Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?"

"Well enough. Look, I've jus' bin askin' Riley, you seen anythin' odd in here lately? There's a unicorn bin injured -- would yeh know anythin' about it?"

Bailey walked over to stand next to Riley. They looked skyward. "Mars is bright tonight," they said simply.

"We've heard," said Hagrid grumpily. "Well, if either of you do see anythin', let me know, won't yeh? We'll be off, then."

Harley and Heracles followed her out of the clearing, staring over their shoulders at Riley and Bailey until the trees blocked their view.

"Never," said Hagrid irritably, "try an' get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in anythin' closer'n the moon."

"Are there many of them in here?" asked Heracles.

"Oh, a fair few... Keep themselves to themselves mostly, but they're good enough about turnin' up if ever I want a word. They're deep, mind, centaurs... they know things... jus' don' let on much."

"D'you think that was a centaur we heard earlier?" said Harley.

"Did that sound like hooves to you? Nah, if yeh ask me, that was what's bin killin' the unicorns -- never heard anythin' like it before."

They walked on through the dense, dark trees. Harley kept looking nervously over her shoulder. She had the nasty feeling they were being watched. She was very glad they had Hagrid and her crossbow with them. They had just passed a bend in the path when Heracles grabbed Hagrid's arm.

"Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!"

"You two wait here!" Hagrid shouted. "Stay on the path, I'll come back for yeh!"

They heard her crashing away through the undergrowth and stood looking at each other, very scared, until they couldn't hear anything but the rustling of leaves around them.

"You don't think they've been hurt, do you?" whispered Heracles.

"If something's got Nev... it's our fault she's here in the first place."

The minutes dragged by. Their ears seemed sharper than usual. Harley's seemed to be picking up every sigh of the wind, every cracking twig. What was going on? Where were the others?

At last, a great crunching noise announced Hagrid's return. Malfoy, Nevaeh, and Ivy were with her. Hagrid was fuming. Malfoy, it seemed, had sneaked up behind Nevaeh and grabbed her as a joke. Nevaeh, fearing the worst, had panicked and sent up the sparks.

"We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were makin'. Right, we're changin' groups -- Nevaeh, you stay with me an' Heracles, Harley, you go with Ivy an' this idiot. I'm sorry," Hagrid added in a whisper to Harley, "but she'll have a harder time frightenin' you, an' we've gotta get this done."

So Harrle set off into the heart of the forest with Malfoy and Ivy. They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. Harley thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Harley could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

"Look -- " she murmured, holding out her arm to stop Malfoy.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.

It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harley had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.

Harley had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound made her freeze where she stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered... Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harley, Malfoy, and Ivy stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.

"AAAAAAAAAARGH!"

Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted -- so did Ivy. The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Harley -- unicorn blood was dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly toward Harley -- she couldn't move for fear.

Then a pain like she'd never felt before pierced her head; it was as though her scar were on fire. Half blinded, she staggered backward. She heard hooves behind her, galloping, and something jumped clean over Harley, charging at the figure.

The pain in Harley's head was so bad she fell to her knees. It took a minute or two to pass. When she looked up, the figure had gone. A centaur was standing over her, not Riley or Bailey; this one looked younger; they had white-blond hair and a palomino body.

"Are you all right?" said the centaur, pulling Harley to her feet.

"Yes -- thank you -- what was that?"

The centaur didn't answer. They had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. They looked carefully at Harley, their eyes lingering on the scar that stood out, livid, on Harley's forehead.

"You are the Evans child," they said. "You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time -- especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way.”

"My name is  Faenza ," they added, as they lowered themself on to their front legs so that Harley could clamber onto their back.

There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Riley and Bailey came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

"Faenza!" Bailey thundered. "What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"

"Do you realize who this is?" said Faenza. "This is the Evans child. The quicker they leave this forest, the better."

"What have you been telling them?" growled Bailey. "Remember, Faenza, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?"

Riley pawed the ground nervously. "I'm sure Faenza thought they were acting for the best," they said in their gloomy voice.

Bailey kicked they back legs in anger.

"For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!"

Faenza suddenly reared on to their hind legs in anger, so that Harley had to grab their shoulders to stay on.

"Do you not see that unicorn?" Faenza bellowed at Bailey. "Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bailey, yes, with humans alongside me if I must."

And Faenza whisked around; with Harley clutching on as best she could, they plunged off into the trees, leaving Riley and Bailey behind them.

Harley didn't have a clue what was going on.

"Why's Bailey so angry?" she asked. "What was that thing you saved me from, anyway?"

Faenza slowed to a walk, warned Harley to keep her head bowed in case of low-hanging branches, but did not answer Harley's question. They made their way through the trees in silence for so long that Harley thought Faenza didn't want to talk to her anymore. They were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, however, when Faenza suddenly stopped.

"Harley Evans, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

"No?" said Harley, startled by the odd question. "We've only used the horn and tail hair in Potions."

"That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," said Faenza. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."

Harley stared at the back of Faenza’s head, which was dappled silver in the moonlight.

"But who'd be that desperate?" she wondered aloud. "If you're going to be cursed forever, death's better, isn't it?"

"It is," Faenza agreed, "unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else -- something that will bring you back to full strength and power -- something that will mean you can never die. Child of Evans, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?"

"The Philosopher’s Stone! Of course -- the Elixir of Life! But I don't understand who--"

"Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?"

It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Harley's heart. Over the rustling of the trees, she seemed to hear once more what Hagrid had told him on the night they had met: "Some say she died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if she had enough human left in ‘er to die."

"Do you mean," Harley croaked, "that was Vol-"

"Harley! Harley, are you all right?"

Heracles was running toward them down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind him.

"I'm fine," said Harley, hardly knowing what she was saying. "The unicorn's dead, Hagrid, it's in that clearing back there."

"This is where I leave you," Faenza murmured as Hagrid hurried off to examine the unicorn. "You are safe now."

Harley slid off their back.

"Good luck, Child of Evans," said Faenza. "The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times."

They turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, leaving Harley shivering behind them.

Rory had fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for them to return. She shouted something about Quidditch fouls when Harley roughly shook her awake. In a matter of seconds, though, she was wide-eyed as Harley began to tell her and Heracles what had happened in the forest.

Harley couldn't sit down. H=She paced up and down in front of the fire. She was still shaking.

"Snape wants the stone for Voldemort... and Voldemort's waiting in the forest... and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich..."

"Stop saying the name!" said Rory in a terrified whisper, as if she thought Voldemort could hear them.

Harley wasn't listening.

"Faenza saved me, but they shouldn't have done so... Bailey was furious... they were talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen... They must show that Voldemort's coming back... Bailey thinks Faenza should have let Voldemort kill me... I suppose that's written in the stars as well."

"Will you stop saying the name!" Rory hissed.

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," Harley went on feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off... Well, I suppose Bailey’ll be happy."

Heracles looked very frightened, but he had a word of comfort.

"Harley, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of with Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

The sky had turned light before they stopped talking. They went to bed exhausted, their throats sore. But the night's surprises weren't over.

When Harley pulled back her sheets, she found his invisibility cloak folded neatly underneath them. There was a note pinned to it:

_ Just in case. _


	16. Through the Trapdoor

In years to come, Harley would never quite remember how she had managed to get through her exams when she half expected Voldemort to come bursting through the door at any moment. Yet the days crept by, and there could be no doubt that Fluffy was still alive and well behind the locked door.

It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anticheating spell.

They had practical exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into her class to see if they could make a pineapple tapdance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox -- points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if it had whiskers. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion.

Harley did the best she could, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in her forehead, which had been bothering her ever since her trip into the forest. Nevaeh thought Harley had a bad case of exam nerves because Harley couldn't sleep, but the truth was that Harl;ey kept being woken by her old nightmare, except that it was now worse than ever because there was a hooded figure dripping blood in it.

Maybe it was because they hadn't seen what Harley had seen in the forest, or because they didn't have scars burning on their foreheads, but Rory and Heracles didn't seem as worried about the Stone as Harley. The idea of Voldemort certainly scared them, but she didn't keep visiting them in dreams, and they were so busy with their studying they didn't have much time to fret about what Snape or anyone else might be up to.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd invented selfstirring cauldrons and they'd be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Harley couldn't help cheering with the rest.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Heracles as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. "I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

Heracles usually liked to go through their exam papers afterward, but Rory said this made her feel ill, so they wandered down to the lake and flopped under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lynn Jordan were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows. "No more studying," Rory sighed happily, stretching out on the grass. "You could look more cheerful, Harley, we've got a week before we find out how badly we've done, there's no need to worry yet."

Harley was rubbing her forehead.

"I wish I knew what this means!" she burst out angrily. "My scar keeps hurting -- it's happened before, but never as often as this."

"Go to Sir Pomfrey," Heracles suggested.

"I'm not ill," said Harley. "I think it's a warning... it means danger's coming…”

Rory couldn't get worked up, it was too hot.

"Harley, relax, Heracles' right, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around. Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. She nearly had her leg ripped off once, she's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Malfoy will transfer to Gryffindor before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."

Harley nodded, but she couldn't shake off a lurking feeling that there was something she'd forgotten to do, something important. When she tried to explain this, Heracles said, "That's just the exams. I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we'd done already that one."

Harley was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn't have anything to do with work, though. She watched an owl flutter toward the school across the bright blue sky, a note clamped in its beak. Hagrid was the only one who ever sent her letters. Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore. Hagrid would never tell anyone how to get past Fluffy... never... but...

Harley suddenly jumped to her feet.

"Where're you going?" said Rory sleepily.

"I've just thought of something," said Harley. She had turned white. "We've got to go and see Hagrid, now."

"Why?" panted Heracles, hurrying to keep up.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd," said Harley, scrambling up the grassy slope, "that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in their pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?”

"What are you talking about?" said Rory, but Harley, sprinting across the grounds toward the forest, didn't answer.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside her house; her trousers and sleeves were rolled up, and she was shelling peas into a large bowl.

"Hullo," she said, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"Yes, please," said Rory, but Harley cut her off.

"No, we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?"

"Dunno," said Hagrid casually, "she wouldn' take ‘er cloak off."

She saw the three of them look stunned and raised her eyebrows.

"It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head -- that's the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' she? I never saw ‘er face, she kept ‘er hood up."

Harley sank down next to the bowl of peas. "What did you talk to her about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

"Mighta come up," said Hagrid, frowning as she tried to remember. "Yeah... she asked what I did, an' I told ‘er I was gamekeeper here... She asked a bit about the sorta creatures I took after... so I told ‘er... an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon... an' then... I can' remember too well, 'cause she kept buyin' me drinks... Let's see... yeah, then she said she had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted... but she had ter be sure I could handle it, she didn' want it ter go ter any old home... So I told ‘er, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy..."

"And did she -- did she seem interested in Fluffy?" Harley asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Well -- yeah -- how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told ‘ee, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep--"

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified.

"I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" she blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey -- where're yeh goin'?"

Harley, Rory, and Heracles didn't speak to each other at all until they came to a halt in the entrance hall, which seemed very cold and gloomy after the grounds.

"We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harley. "Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak -- it must've been easy, once she'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Faenza might back us up if Bailey doesn't stop them. Where's Dumbledore's office?"

They looked around, as if hoping to see a sign pointing them in the right direction. They had never been told where Dumbledore lived, nor did they know anyone who had been sent to see her.

"We'll just have to -- " Harley began, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

"What are you three doing inside?"

It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," said Heracles, rather bravely, Harley and Rory thought.

"See Professor Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall repeated, as though this was a very fishy thing to want to do. "Why?"

Harley swallowed -- now what?

"It's sort of secret," she said, but she wished at once she hadn't, because Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," he said coldly. "She received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flooed to London at once."

"She's gone?" said Harley frantically. "Now?"

"Professor Dumbledore is a very great witch, Miss Evans, she has many demands on her time--"

"But this is important."

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Evans?"

"Look," said Harley, throwing caution to the winds, "Professor -- it's about the Philosopher’s Stone--"

Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it wasn't that. The books he was carrying tumbled out of his arms, but he didn't pick them up. Suddenly, for a flicker of a moment, he looked wistful in his anger, as through thinking back to an old memory this reminded him of. Then, he was simply outraged.

"How do you know -- ?" he spluttered.

"Professor, I think -- I know -- that Sn -- that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

He eyed her with a mixture of shock and suspicion that seemed oddly fond. She didn’t have the time to question this behavior in him, because hr was already dismissing them.

"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," he said finally. “I don't know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

"But Professor--"

"Potter, I know what I'm talking about," he said shortly. Harley paused for a second at the name, not recognizing it. But Professor McGonnagall was looking at her when he said it, so it must mean her. He bent down and gathered up the fallen books. “I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine."

But they didn't.

"It's tonight," said Harley, once she was sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. She's found out everything she needs, and now she's got Dumbledore out of the way. She sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up."

"But what can we--"

Heracles gasped. Harley and Rory wheeled round.

Snape was standing there.

"Good afternoon," she said smoothly.

They stared at her.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," she said, with an odd, twisted smile.

"We were -- " Harley began, without any idea what she was going to say.

"You want to be more careful," said Snape. "Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?"

Harley flushed. They turned to go outside, but Snape called them back.

"Be warned, Evans-- any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you."

She strode off in the direction of the staffroom.

Out on the stone steps, Harley turned to the others.

"Right, here's what we've got to do," she whispered urgently. "One of us has got to keep an eye on Snape -- wait outside the staff room and follow her if she leaves it. ‘Cles, you'd better do that."

"Why me?"

"It's obvious," said Rory. "You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick, you know." She put on a low voice, "'Oh Professor Flitwick, I'm so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong... '"

"Oh, shut up," said Heracles, but he agreed to go and watch out for Snape.

"And we'd better stay outside the third-floor corridor," Harley told Rory. "Come on."

But that part of the plan didn't work. No sooner had they reached the door separating Fluffy from the rest of the school than Professor McGonagall turned up again and this time, he lost his temper.

"I suppose you think you're harder to get past than a pack of enchantments!" he stormed. "Enough of this nonsense! If I hear you've come anywhere near here again, I'll take another fifty points from Gryffindor! Yes, Weasley, from my own house!"

Harley and Rory went back to the common room, Harley had just said, "At least Heracles’ on Snape's tail," when the portrait of the Singing Man swung open and Heracles came in.

"I'm sorry, Harley!" he wailed. "Snape came out and asked me what I was doing, so I said I was waiting for Flitwick, and Snape went to get her, and I've only just got away, I don't know where Snape went."

"Well, that's it then, isn't it?" Harley said.

The other two stared at her. She was pale and her eyes were glittering.

"I'm going out of here tonight and I'm going to try and get to the Stone first."

"You're mad!" said Rory.

"You can't!" said Heracles. "After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You'll be expelled!"

"SO WHAT?!" Harley shouted. "Don't you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort's coming back! Haven't you heard what it was like when she was trying to take over? There won't be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! She'll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn't matter anymore, can't you see? D'you think she'll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor wins the house cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to go back to the Evans’ and wait for Voldemort to find me there, it's only dying a bit later than I would have, because I'm never going over to the Dark Side! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you two say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?"

She glared at them.

"You're right Harley," said Heracles in a small voice.

"I'll use the invisibility cloak," said Harley. "It's just lucky I got it back."

"But will it cover all three of us?" said Rory.

"All -- all three of us?"

"Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd let you go alone?"

"Of course not," said Heracles briskly. "How do you think you'd get to the Stone without us? I'd better go and took through my books, there might be something useful..."

"But if we get caught, you two will be expelled, too."

"Not if I can help it," said Heracles grimly. "Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve percent on her exam. They're not throwing me out after that."

After dinner the three of them sat nervously apart in the common room. Nobody bothered them; none of the Gryffindors had anything to say to Harley any more, after all. This was the first night she hadn't been upset by it. Heracles was skimming through all his notes, hoping to come across one of the enchantments they were about to try to break. Harley and Rory didn't talk much. Both of them were thinking about what they were about to do.

Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed.

"Better get the cloak," Ron muttered, as Lynn Jordan finally left, stretching and yawning. Harley ran upstairs to their dark dormitory. She pulled out the cloak and then her eyes fell on the flute Hagrid had given her for Christmas. She pocketed it to use on Fluffy -- she didn't feel much like singing.

She ran back down to the common room.

"We'd better put the cloak on here, and make sure it covers all three of us - if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own--"

"What are you doing?" said a voice from the corner of the room. Nevaeh appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Tessa the toad, who looked as though she'd been making another bid for freedom.

"Nothing, Nevaeh, nothing," said Harley, hurriedly putting the cloak behind her back.

Nevaeh stared at their guilty faces.

"You're going out again," she said.

"No, no, no," said Heracles hurriedly. "No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed, Nev?"

Harley looked at the grandfather clock by the door. They couldn't afford to waste any more time, Snape might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep.

"You can't go out," said Nevaeh, "you'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble."

"You don't understand," said Harley, "this is important."

But Nevahe was clearly steeling herself to do something desperate.

"I won't let you do it," she said, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole. "I'll -- I'll fight you!"

"Nevaeh,” Rory exploded, "get away from that hole and don't be an idiot--"

"Don't you call me an idiot!" said Nevaeh. “I don't think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!"

"Yes, but not to us!" said Rory in exasperation. "Nevaeh, you don't know what you're doing."

She took a step forward and Nevaeh dropped Tessa the toad, who leapt out of sight.

"Go on then, try and hit me!" said Nevaeh, raising her fists. "I'm ready!"

Harley turned to Heracles.

"Do something," she said desperately.

Heracles stepped forward.

"Nevaeh," she said, "I'm really, really sorry about this."

He raised his wand.

"Petrificus Totalus!" he cried, pointing it at Nevaeh.

Nevaeh’s arms snapped to her sides. Her legs sprang together. Her whole body rigid, she swayed where she stood and then fell flat on her face, stiff as a board.

Heracles ran to turn him over. Nevaeh’s jaws were jammed together so she couldn't speak. Only her eyes were moving, looking at them in horror.

"What've you done to him?" Harley whispered.

"It's the full Body-Bind," said Heracles miserably. "Oh, Nevaeh, I'm so sorry."

"We had to, Nev, no time to explain," said Harley.

"You'll understand later, Nevaeh," said Rory as they stepped over her and pulled on the invisibility cloak.

But leaving Nevaeh lying motionless on the floor didn't feel like a very good omen. In their nervous state, every statue's shadow looked like Filch, every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves swooping down on them. At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mr. Norris skulking near the top.

"Oh, let's kick him, just the once," Rory whispered in Harley's ear, but Harley shook her head. As they climbed carefully around him, Mr. Norris turned his lamplike eyes on them, but didn't do anything.

They didn't meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.

"Who's there?" he said suddenly as they climbed toward him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?"

He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at them.

"Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen."

Harley had a sudden idea.

"Peeves," she said, in a hoarse whisper, "the Bloody Baroness has her own reasons for being invisible."

Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs.

"So sorry, your bloodiness, M-Ms. Baroness, Madam," he said greasily. "My mistake, my mistake -- I didn't see you -- of course I didn't, you're invisible -- forgive old Peevsie his little joke, ma’am."

"I have business here, Peeves," croaked Harley. "Stay away from this place tonight."

"I will, ma’am, I most certainly will," said Peeves, rising up in the air again. "Hope your business goes well, Baroness, I'll not bother you."

And he scooted off.

"Brilliant, Harley!" whispered Rory.

A few seconds later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor -- and the door was already ajar.

"Well, there you are," Harley said quietly, "Snape's already got past Fluffy."

Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all three of them what was facing them. Underneath the cloak, Harley turned to the other two.

"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," she said. "You can take the cloak, I won't need it now."

"Don't be stupid," said Rory.

"We're coming," said Heracles.

Harley pushed the door open.

As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it couldn't see them.

"What's that at its feet?" Heracles whispered.

"Looks like a harp," said Rory. "Snape must have left it there."\

"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," said Harley. "Well, here goes..."

She put Hagrid's flute to her lips and blew. It wasn't really a tune, but from the first note the beast's eyes began to droop. Harley hardly drew breath. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased -- it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

"Keep playing," Rory warned Harley as they slipped out of the cloak and crept toward the trapdoor. They could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant heads. "I think we'll be able to pull the door open," said Rory, peering over the dog's back. "Want to go first, Heracles?"

"Ladies first." He said, only slightly smug.

"All right." Rory gritted her teeth and stepped carefully over the dog's legs. She bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open.

"What can you see?" Heracles said anxiously.

"Nothing -- just black -- there's no way of climbing down, we'll just have to drop."

Harley, who was still playing the flute, waved at Rory to get her attention and pointed at herself.

"You want to go first? Are you sure?" said Rory. "I don't know how deep this thing goes. Give the flute to Heracles so he can keep it asleep."

Harley handed the flute over. In the few seconds' silence, the dog growled and twitched, but the moment Heracles began to play, it fell back into its deep sleep.

Harley climbed over it and looked down through the trapdoor. There was no sign of the bottom.

She lowered herself through the hole until she was hanging on by her fingertips. Then she looked up at Rory and said, "If anything happens to me, don't follow. Go straight to the owlery and send Pollux to Dumbledore, right?"

"Right," said Rory.

"See you in a minute, I hope..."

And Harley let go. Cold, damp air rushed past her as she fell down, down, down and --

With a funny, muffled sort of thump she landed on something soft. She sat up and felt around, her eyes not used to the gloom. It felt as though she was sitting on some sort of plant.

"It's okay!" she called up to the light the size of a postage stamp, which was the open trapdoor, "it's a soft landing, you can jump!"

Rory followed right away. She landed, sprawled next to Harley.

"What is this stuff?" were her first words.

"Dunno, some sort of plant thing. I suppose it's here to break the fall. Come on, Heracles!"

The distant music stopped. There was a loud bark from the dog, but Heracles had already jumped. He landed on Harley's other side.

"We must be miles under the school," he said.

"Lucky this plant thing's here, really," said Rory.

"Lucky!" shrieked Heracles. "Look at you both!"

He leapt up and struggled toward a damp wall. He had to struggle because the moment he had landed, the plant had started to twist snakelike tendrils around his ankles. As for Harley and Rory, their legs had already been bound tightly in long creepers without their noticing.

Heracles had managed to free himself before the plant got a firm grip on him. Now he watched in horror as the two girls fought to pull the plant off them, but the more they strained against it, the tighter and faster the plant wound around them.

"Stop moving!" Heracles ordered them. "I know what this is -- it's Devil's Snare!"

"Oh, I'm so glad we know what it's called, that's a great help," snarled Rory, leaning back, trying to stop the plant from curling around her neck. "Will you shut up, I'm trying to remember how to kill it!" said Heracles.

"Well, please hurry up, I can't breathe!" Harley gasped, wrestling with it as it curled around her chest.

"Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare... what did Professor Sprout say? -- it likes the dark and the damp."

"So light a fire!" Harley choked.

"Yes -- of course -- but there's no wood!" Heracles cried, wringing his hands.

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?" Rory bellowed. "ARE YOU A WIZARD OR NOT?"

"Oh, right!" said Heracles, and he whipped out his wand, waved it, muttered something, and sent a jet of the same bluebell flames he had used on Snape at the plant. In a matter of seconds, the two girls felt it loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unraveled itself from their bodies, and they were able to pull free.

"Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Heracles," said Harley as she joined him by the wall, wiping sweat off her face.

"Yeah," said Rory, "and lucky Harley doesn't lose her head in a crisis -- 'there's no wood,' honestly."

"This way," said Harley, pointing down a stone passageway, which was the only way forward.

All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downward, and Harley was reminded of Gringotts. With an unpleasant jolt of the heart, she remembered the dragons said to be guarding vaults in the wizards' bank. If they met a dragon, a fully-grown dragon -- Norbert had been bad enough...

"Can you hear something?" Rory whispered.

Harley listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

"Do you think it's a ghost?"

"I don't know... sounds like wings to me."

"There's light ahead -- I can see something moving."

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" said Rory.

"Probably," said Harley. "They don't look very vicious, but I suppose if they all swooped down at once... well, there's no other choice... I'll run."

She took a deep breath, covered her face with her arms, and sprinted across the room. She expected to feel sharp beaks and claws tearing at her any second, but nothing happened. She reached the door untouched. She pulled the handle, but it was locked.

The other two followed her. They tugged and heaved at the door, but it wouldn't budge, not even when Heracles tried the Alohomora charm.

"Now what?" said Rory.

"These birds... they can't be here just for decoration," said Heracles.

They watched the birds soaring overhead, glittering -- glittering ?

"They're not birds!" Harley said suddenly. "They're keys! Winged keys -- look carefully. So that must mean... " she looked around the chamber while the other two squinted up at the flock of keys. "... yes -- look! Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!"

"But there are hundreds of them!"

Rory examined the lock on the door.

"We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one -- probably silver, like the handle."

They each seized a broomstick and kicked off into the air, soaring into the midst of the cloud of keys. They grabbed and snatched, but the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch one.

Not for nothing, though, was Harley the youngest Seeker in a century. She had a knack for spotting things other people didn't. After a minute's weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, she noticed a large silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole.

"That one!" she called to the others. "That big one -- there -- no, there -- with bright blue wings -- the feathers are all crumpled on one side."

Rory went speeding in the direction that Harley was pointing, crashed into the ceiling, and nearly fell off her broom.

"We've got to close in on it!" Harley called, not taking her eyes off the key with the damaged wing. "Rory, you come at it from above -- Heracles, stay below and stop it from going down and I'll try and catch it. Right, NOW!"

Rory dived, Heracles rocketed upward, the key dodged them both, and Harley streaked after it; it sped toward the wall, Harley leaned forward and with a nasty, crunching noise, pinned it against the stone with one hand. Rory and Heracles’ cheers echoed around the high chamber.

They landed quickly, and Harley ran to the door, the key struggling in her hand. She rammed it into the lock and turned - it worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice.

"Ready?" Harley asked the other two, her hand on the door handle. They nodded. She pulled the door open.

The next chamber was so dark they couldn't see anything at all. But as they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight.

They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces. Harley, Rory and Heracles shivered slightly - the towering white chessmen had no faces.

"Now what do we do?" Harley whispered.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Rory. "We've got to play our way across the room."

Behind the white pieces they could see another door.

"How?" said Heracles nervously.

"I think," said Rory, "we're going to have to be chessmen."

She walked up to a black knight and put her hand out to touch the knight's horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground and the knight turned it’s helmeted head to look down at Rory.

"Do we -- er -- have to join you to get across?" The black knight nodded. Rory turned to the other two.

"This needs thinking about... " she said. "I suppose we've got to take the place of three of the black pieces..."

Harley and Heracles stayed quiet, watching Rory think. Finally she said, "Now, don't be offended or anything, but neither of you are that good at chess--"

"We're not offended," said Harley quickly. "Just tell us what to do."

"Well, Harley, you take the place of that bishop, and Heracles, you next to her instead of that castle."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to be a knight," said Rory.

The chessmen seemed to have been listening, because at these words a knight, a bishop, and a castle turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board, leaving three empty squares that Harley, Rory, and Heracles took.

"White always plays first in chess," said Rory, peering across the board. "Yes... look..."

A white pawn had moved forward two squares.

Rory started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever she sent them. Harley's knees were trembling. What if they lost?

"Harley -- move diagonally four squares to the right."

Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed it to the floor and dragged it off the board, where it lay quite still, facedown.

"Had to let that happen," said Rory, looking shaken. "Leaves you free to take that bishop, Heracles, go on."

Every time one of their pieces was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Rory only just noticed in time that Harley and Heracles were in danger. She herself darted around the board, taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones.

"We're nearly there," she muttered suddenly. "Let me think -- let me think..."

The white queen turned it’s blank face toward him.

"Yes... " said Rory softly, "It's the only way... I've got to be taken."

"NO!" Harley and Heracles shouted.

"That's chess!" snapped Rory. "You've got to make some sacrifices! I take one step forward and she'll take me -- that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harley!"

"But--"

"Do you want to stop Snape or not?"

"Rory--"

"Look, if you don't hurry up, she'll already have the Stone!"

There was no alternative.

"Ready?" Rory called, her face pale but determined. "Here I go -- now, don't hang around once you've won."

She stepped forward, and the white queen pounced. It struck Rory hard across the head with it’s stone arm, and she crashed to the floor -- 

Heracles screamed but stayed on his square -- the white queen dragged Rory to one side. She looked as if she'd been knocked out.

Shaking, Harley moved three spaces to the left.

The white king took off it’s crown and threw it at Harley's feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With one last desperate look back at Rory, Harley and Heracles charged through the door and up the next passageway.

"What if she's -- ?"

"She'll be all right," said Harley, trying to convince herself. "What do you reckon's next?"

"We've had Sprout's, that was the Devil's Snare; Flitwick must've put charms on the keys; McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive; that leaves Quirrell's spell, and Snape's."

They had reached another door.

"All right?" Harley whispered.

"Go on."

Harley pushed it open.

A disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making both of them pull their robes up over their noses. Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled, out cold with a bloody lump on its head.

"I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one," Harley whispered as they stepped carefully over one of its massive legs. "Come on, I can't breathe."

She pulled open the next door, both of them hardly daring to look at what came next -- but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

"Snape's," said Harley. "What do we have to do?"

They stepped over the threshold, and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.

"Look!" Heracles seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Harley looked over his shoulder to read it:

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, which ever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Heracles let out a great sigh and Harley, amazed, saw that he was smiling, the very last thing she felt like doing.

"Brilliant," said Heracles. "This isn't magic -- it's logic -- a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."

"But so will we, won't we?"

"Of course not," said Heracles. "Everything we need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple."

"But how do we know which to drink?"

"Give me a minute."

Heracles read the paper several times. Then he walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to himself and pointing at them. At last, he clapped his hands.

"Got it," he said. "The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire -- toward the Stone."

Harley looked at the tiny bottle.

"There's only enough there for one of us," she said. "That's hardly one swallow."

They looked at each other.

"Which one will get you back through the purple flames?"

Heracles pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.

"You drink that," said Harley. "No, listen, get back and get Rory. Grab brooms from the flying-key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy -- go straight to the owlery and send Pollux to Dumbledore, we need her. I might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but I'm no match for her, really."

"But Harley -- what if You-Know-Who's with her?"

"Well -- I was lucky once, wasn't I?" said Harley, pointing at her scar. "I might get lucky again."

Heracles's lip trembled, and he suddenly dashed at Harley and threw his arms around her.

"’Cles!"

"Harley -- you're a great witch, you know."

"I'm not as good as you," said Harley, very embarrassed, as he let go of her.

"Me!" said Heracles. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things -- friendship and bravery and -- oh Harley -- be careful!"

"You drink first," said Harley. "You are sure which is which, aren't you?"

"Positive," said Heracles. He took a long drink from the round bottle at the end, and shuddered.

"It's not poison?" said Harley anxiously.

"No -- but it's like ice."

"Quick, go, before it wears off."

"Good luck -- take care."

"Go, Heracles!"

Heraces turned and walked straight through the purple fire.

Harley took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. She turned to face the black flames.

"Here I come," she said, and she drained the little bottle in one gulp.

It was indeed as though ice was flooding her body. She put the bottle down and walked forward; she braced herself, saw the black flames licking her body, but couldn't feel them -- for a moment she could see nothing but dark fire -- then she was on the other side, in the last chamber.

There was already someone there -- but it wasn't Snape. It wasn't even Voldemort.


	17. The Witch With Two Faces

It was Quirrell.

"You!" gasped Harley.

Quirrell smiled. Her face wasn't twitching at all.

"Me," she said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Miss Evans."

"But I thought -- Snape--"

"Seanna?" Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't her usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, Seanna does seem the type, doesn't she? So useful to have her swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to her, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Harley couldn't take it in. This couldn't be true, it couldn't.

"But Snape tried to kill me!"

"No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend Mister Granger accidentally knocked me over as he rushed to set fire to Seanna at that Quidditch match. He broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Seanna hadn't been muttering a countercurse, trying to save you."

"Snape was trying to save me?"

"Of course," said Quirrell coolly. "Why do you think she wanted to referee your next match? She was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really... she needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Seanna was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, she did make herself unpopular... and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight."

Quirrell snapped her fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harley.

"You're too nosy to live, Miss Evans. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"You let the troll in?"

"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls -- you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Seanna, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off -- and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly.

"Now, wait quietly, Miss Evans. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

It was only then that Harley realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping her way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this... but she's in London... I'll be far away by the time she gets back..."

All Harley could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop her from concentrating on the mirror.

"I saw you and Snape in the forest -- " she blurted out.

"Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back. "She was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. She suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me -- as though she could, when I had Lady Voldemort on my side..."

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.

"I see the Stone... I'm presenting it to my mistress... but where is it?"

Harley struggled against the ropes binding her, but they didn't give. She had to keep Quirrell from giving her whole attention to the mirror.

"But Snape always seemed to hate me so much."

"Oh, she does," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. She was at Hogwarts with your mother, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But she never wanted you dead."

"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing -- I thought Snape was threatening you..."

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.

"Sometimes," she said, "I find it hard to follow my mistress’ instructions -- she is a great witch and I am weak--"

"You mean she was there in the classroom with you?" Harley gasped.

"She is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met her when I traveled around the world. A foolish young woman I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lady Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it... Since then, I have served her faithfully, although I have let her down many times. She has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly. "She does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the stone from Gringotts, she was most displeased. She punished me... decided she would have to keep a closer watch on me..."

Quirrell's voice trailed away. Harley was remembering her trip to Diagon Alley -- how could she have been so stupid? She'd seen Quirrell there that very day, shaken hands with her in the Leaky Cauldron.

Quirrell cursed under her breath

"I don't understand... is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

Harley's mind was racing.

_ What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment,  _ she thought, _ is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it -- which means I'll see where it's hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I'm up to? _

She tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around her ankles were too tight: she tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored her. She was still talking to herself.

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Mistress!"

And to Harley's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell herself.

"Use the girl... Use the girl..."

Quirrell rounded on Harley.

"Yes -- Evans-- come here."

She clapped her hands once, and the ropes binding Harley fell off. Harley got slowly to her feet.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Harley walked toward her.

_ I must lie,  _ she thought desperately. _ I must look and lie about what I see, that's all. _

Quirrell moved close behind her. Harley breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. She closed her eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.

She saw her reflection, scared-looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at her. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket -- and as it did so, Harley felt something heavy drop into her real pocket. Somehow -- incredibly -- she'd gotten the Stone.

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

Harley screwed up her courage.

"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," she invented. "I -- I've won the house cup for Gryffindor."

Quirrell cursed again.

"Get out of the way," she said. As Harley moved aside, she felt the Sorcerer's Stone against her leg. Dare she make a break for it?

But she hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving her lips.

"She lies... She lies..."

"Evans, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"

The high voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to her... face-to-face…”

"Mistress, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough... for this..."

Harley felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting her to the spot. She couldn't move a muscle. Petrified, she watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap her hijab. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then she turned slowly on the spot.

Harley would have screamed, but she couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harley had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Harley Evans... " it whispered.

Harley tried to take a step backward but her legs wouldn't move.

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor... I have form only when I can share another's body... but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds... Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks... you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own... Now... why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

So it knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harley's legs. She stumbled backward.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join me... or you'll meet the same end as your parents... They died begging me for mercy..."

"LIAR!" Harley shouted suddenly.

Quirrell was walking backward at her, so that Voldemort could still see her. The evil face was now smiling.

"How touching... " it hissed. "I always value bravery... Yes, boy, your parents were brave... I killed your mother first; and she put up a courageous fight... but your father needn't have died... he was trying to protect you... Now give me the Stone, unless you want them to have died in vain."

"NEVER!"

Harley sprang toward the flame door, but Voldemort screamed "SEIZE HER!" and the next second, Harley felt Quirrell's hand close on her wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harley's scar; her head felt as though it was about to split in two; she yelled, struggling with all her might, and to her surprise, Quirrell let go of her. The pain in her head lessened -- she looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw her hunched in pain, looking at her fingers -- they were blistering before her eyes.

"Seize her! SEIZE HER!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harley clean off her feet landing on top of him, both hands around Harley's neck -- Harley's scar was almost blinding her with pain, yet she could see Quirrell howling in agony.

"Mistress, I cannot hold her -- my hands -- my hands!"

And Quirrell, though pinning Harley to the ground with her knees, let go of her neck and stared, bewildered, at her own palms -- Harley could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

"Then kill her, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell raised her hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harley, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face --

"AAAARGH!"

Quirrell rolled off her, her face blistering, too, and then Harley knew: Quirrell couldn't touch her bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain -- her only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep her in enough pain to stop her from doing a curse.

Harley jumped to her feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as she could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harley off -- the pain in Harley's head was building -- she couldn't see -- she could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HER! KILL HER!" and other voices, maybe in Harley's own head, crying, "Harley! Harley!"

She felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from her grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down... down... down...

Something gold was glinting just above her. The Snitch! She tried to catch it, but her arms were too heavy.

She blinked. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange.

She blinked again. The smiling face of Allana Dumbledore swam into view above her.

"Good afternoon, Harley," said Dumbledore.

Harley stared at her. Then she remembered: "Madam! The Stone! It was Quirrell! She's got the Stone! Madam, quick--"

"Calm yourself, dear girl, you are a little behind the times," said Dumbledore. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

"Then who does? Madam, I--"

"Harley, please relax, or Sir Pomfrey will have me thrown out."

Harley swallowed and looked around her. She realized she must be in the hospital wing. She was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to her was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misses Faith and Grace Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Sir Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

"How long have I been in here?"

"Three days. Ms. Aurora Weasley and Mr. Heracles Granger will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

"But madam, the Stone--"

"I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."

"You got there? You got Heracles’ owl?"

"We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you."

"It was you."

"I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept her off the Stone much longer -"

"Not the Stone, Miss Evans, you -- the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."

"Destroyed?" said Harley blankly. "But your friend -- Nicolette Flamel--"

"Oh, you know about Nicolette?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nic and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."

"But that means she and her wife will die, won't they?"

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."

Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harley's face.

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolette and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all -- the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."

Harley lay there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.

"Er.. Madam?" said Harley. "I've been thinking... Madam-- even if the Stone's gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who--"

"Call her Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"Yes, Madam. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't she? I mean, she hasn't gone, has she?"

"No, Harley, she has not. She is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share... not being truly alive, she cannot be killed. She left Quirrell to die; she shows just as little mercy to her followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harley, while you may only have delayed her return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time -- and if she is delayed again, and again, why, she may never return to power."

Harley nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made her head hurt. Then she said, "Madam, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me... things I want to know the truth about..."

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well... Voldemort said that she only killed my father because he tried to stop her from killing me. But why would she want to kill me in the first place?"

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day... put it from your mind for now, Harley. When you are older... I know you hate to hear this... when you are ready, you will know."

And Harley knew it would be no good to argue.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your father died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. She didn't realize that love as powerful as your father’s for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing her soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harley time to dry her eyes on the sheet. When she had found her voice again, Harley said, "And the invisibility cloak -- do you know who sent it to me?"

"Ah -- your mother happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful things... your mother used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when she was here, and I hope you find it’s use. While I do hope you don’t use it quite the same way that she did.."

"And there's something else..."

"Fire away."

"Quirrell said Snape--"

"Professor Snape, Harley."

"Yes, her -- Quirrell said she hates me because she hated my mother. Is that true?"

"Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Ms. Malfoy. And then, your mother did something Seanna could never forgive."

"What?"

"She saved her life."

"What?"

"Yes... " said Dumbledore dreamily. "Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your mother's debt... I do believe she worked so hard to protect you this year because she felt that would make her and your mother even. Then she could go back to hating your mother’s memory in peace."

Harley tried to understand this but it made her head pound, so she stopped.

"And Madam, there's one more thing..."

"Just the one?"

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone -- find it, but not use it -- would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes... Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bennie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit flavored one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them -- but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"

She smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into her mouth. Then she choked and said, "Alas, Earwax!"

Sir Pomfrey, the nurse, was a kind wizard, but very strict.

"Just five minutes," Harley pleaded.

"Absolutely not."

"You let Professor Dumbledore in..."

"Well, of course, that was the headmaster, quite different. You need rest."

"I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Sir Pomfrey..."

"Oh, very well," he said. "But five minutes only."

And he let Rory and Heracles in.

"Harley!"

Heracles looked ready to fling his arms around her again, but Harley was glad he held himself in as her head was still very sore.

"Oh, Harley, we were sure you were going to -- Dumbledore was so worried--"

"The whole school's talking about it," said Rory. "What really happened?"

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumors. Harley told them everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. Rory and Heracles were a very good audience; they gasped in all the right places, and when Harley told them what was under Quirrell's hijab, Heracles screamed out loud.

"So the Stone's gone?" said Rory finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"

"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that -- what was it? -- 'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.'"

"I always said she was off her rocker," said Rory, looking quite impressed at how crazy her headmaster was.

"So what happened to you two?" said Harley.

"Well, I got back all right," said Heracles. "I brought Rory round -- that took a while -- and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met her in the entrance hall -- she already knew -- she just said, 'Harley's gone after her, hasn't she?' and hurtled off to the third floor."

"D'you think she meant you to do it?" said Rory. "Sending you your mum’s cloak and everything?"

"Well," Heracles exploded, "if she did -- I mean to say that's terrible -- you could have been killed."

"No, it isn't," said Harley thoughtfully. "She's a funny woman, Dumbledore. I think she sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think she knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon she had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, she just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident she let me find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like she thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could..."

"Yeah, Dumbledore's off her rocker, all right," said Rory proudly. "Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course -- you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you -- but the food'll be good."

At that moment, Sir Pomfrey bustled over.

"You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now out!" he said firmly.

After a good night's sleep, Harley felt nearly back to normal.

"I want to go to the feast," she told Sir Pomfrey as he straightened her many candy boxes. "I can, can't I?"

"Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go," he said stiffly, as though in his opinion Professor Dumbledore didn't realize how risky feasts could be. "And you have another visitor."

"Oh, good," said Harley. "Who is it?"

Hagrid sidled through the door as she spoke. As usual when she was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. She sat down next to Harley, took one look at her, and burst into tears.

"It's -- all -- my -- ruddy -- fault!" she sobbed, her face in her hands. I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told ‘er! It was the only thing she didn't know, an' I told ‘er! Yeh could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a Muggle!"

"Hagrid!" said Harley, shocked to see Hagrid shaking with grief and remorse, great tears leaking down into her beard. "Hagrid, she'd have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about, she'd have found out even if you hadn't told her."

"Yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don' say the name!"

"VOLDEMORT!" Harley bellowed, and Hagrid was so shocked, she stopped crying. "I've met her and I'm calling her by her name. Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it's gone, she can't use it. Have a Chocolate Frog, I've got loads..."

Hagrid wiped her nose on the back of her hand and said, "That reminds me. I've got yeh a present."

"It's not a stoat sandwich, is it?" said Harley teasingly, and at last Hagrid gave a weak chuckle.

"Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'course, she shoulda sacked me instead -- anyway, got yeh this..."

It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harley opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at her from every page were her mother and father.

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos... mostly Lupin… knew yeh didn' have any... d'yeh like it?"

Harley couldn't speak, but Hagrid understood.

Harley made her way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. She had been held up by Sir Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving her one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colors of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Harley walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. She slipped into a seat between Rory and Heracles at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at her. She had gotten good at that this year.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old woman's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts...

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harley could see Danika Malfoy banging her goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.

"Yes, Yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes...

"First -- to Ms. Aurora Weasley…

Rory went purple in the face; she looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.

"... for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Peggy could be heard telling the other prefects, "My sister, you know! My youngest sister! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

At last there was silence again.

"Second -- to Mr. Heracles Granger... for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Heracles buried his face in his arms; Harley strongly suspected he had bright red cheeks and great big smile. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves -- they were a hundred points up.

"Third -- to Ms. Harley Evans... " said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. "... for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points -- exactly the same as Slytherin. They had tied for the house cup -- if only Dumbledore had given Harley just one more point.

Dumbledore raised her hand. The room gradually fell silent.

"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Ms. Nevaeh Longbottom."

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Harley, Rory, and Heracles stood up to yell and cheer as Nevaeh, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging her. She had never won so much as a point for Gryffindor before. Harley, still cheering, nudged Rory in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if she'd just had the Body-Bind Curse put on her.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we need a little change of decoration."

She clapped her hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand, with a horrible, forced smile. She caught Harley's eye and Harley knew at once that Snape's feelings toward her hadn't changed one jot. This didn't worry Harley. It seemed as though life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts.

It was the best evening of Harley's life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls... she would never, ever forget tonight.

Harley had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To their great surprise, both she and Rory passed with good marks; Heracles, of course, had the best grades of the first years. Even Nevaeh made it through, her good Herbology mark making up for her abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid as she was mean, might be thrown out, but she had passed, too. It was a shame, but as Rory said, you couldn't have everything in life.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Nevaeh’s toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," said Faith Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bennie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

"You must come and stay this summer," said Rory, "both of you -- I'll send you an owl."

"Thanks," said Harley, "I'll need something to look forward to." People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called:

"Bye, Harley!"

"See you, Evans!"

"Still famous," said Rory, grinning at her.

"Not where I'm going, I promise you," said Harley.

She, Rory, and Heracles passed through the gateway together. "There she is, Dad, there she is, look!"

It was Gio Weasley, Rory's younger brother, but he wasn't pointing at Rory.

"Harley Evans!" he squealed. "Look, Dad! I can see--"

"Be quiet, Gio, and it's rude to point."

Mr. Weasley smiled down at them.

"Busy year?" he said.

"Very," said Harley. "Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh, it was nothing, dear."

"Ready, are you?"

It was Aunt Veronica, still purple-faced, still looking furious at the nerve of Harley, carrying an owl in a cage in a station full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Uncle Peter and Dorothy, who Harley was pleased to note was looking terrified at the very sight of her.

"You must be Harley's family!" said Mr. Weasley.

"In a manner of speaking," said Uncle Peter. "Hurry up, girl, we haven't got all day." The three of them walked away.

Harley hung back for a last word with Rory and Heracles.

"See you over the summer, then."

"Hope you have -- er -- a good holiday," said Heracles, looking uncertainly after Aunt Veronica, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant.

"Oh, I will," said Harley, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over her face. "They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dorothy this summer...


End file.
